Wolves of the Angel: Fallen Brothers
by Isador Akios
Summary: Book 2-Sgt. Lenikov's very soul has been torn by the horrors of war. He has seen countless billions of people die at the hands of Kaos. He was forced to watch his honour brother murdered. He has lost all faith in the Emperor of Man. Now he needs it most.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Questions. Anger. Pure, burning hatred and, at the same time, a deep and unending sense of loss and sadness, of desperation and complete and utter loneliness. Normally feelings unknown to an Astartes, they constantly plagued the sergeant. He knelt, surrounded on all sides by the never-ending snow of his home world. Freezing winds cut at him, but he felt nothing.

_Why me?_

This was his question, this was his bane. Why him? Out of billions of souls, all loyal to their god, why him? Why should he survive, and they die? He did not deserve life. He was of no worth, was too flawed, too… doubtful. His faith was not as utterly unshakeable as that of his brothers. His failures were far more damning, his mistakes unforgivable. The blood of thousands, millions of people was on his hands. The near-complete destruction of an entire Astartes Chapter, his fault. The death of his closest friend and brother, his responsibility.

And so, why him? The Marine asked this question of the Emperor every day, begged for a response. None came. He'd sat on his knees crying, _pleading_ his god to guide him, and received nothing. The cold stares of the statues of the God-Emperor always bore into his soul, condemning him, denying him. They would constantly remind him of his faults, add to the weight of the considerable amount of guilt he bore.

The Kaos-held planet of Arein was retaken, but after considerable loss of life and one hundred years of slavery and resistance warfare. Half of his squad had been killed. The desert planet of Preaore was invaded by a legion of Kaos worshippers. The Hunters Astartes Chapter escaped the destruction with barely one hundred Marines and four thousand civilians. The remainder of the sergeant's tactical squad and close to eight billion lives were lost. The sergeant simply had lost all will to go on, and so he sat, and he waited. Either the Emperor would let him live, would forgive his unforgivable crimes, or he would die. And so, Lenikov waited.

* * *

Riktovi, head down, eyes closed, prayed for the souls of all the Marines fallen in the last engagement. He slowly listed the names of the fifty-four Arctic Wolves no longer with them. After a slight hesitation, he added Kyr Lenikov's name to the list. The sergeant was still alive, technically speaking. He breathed, prayed, and moved as living things do, but his mind and soul were gone. The Marine was lost, with no purpose or direction.

He blamed himself for the losses on Arein, and later on Preaore. He blamed himself for the shortcomings of the Imperium's commanders when Arein was forced to struggle for survival under one hundred years of Kaos rule. He even blamed himself for the civilians and Guardsmen lost on Preaore, for every Marine left behind during the evacuation. In his eyes, every single Imperial death was on his hands, because he could not save them. He could not drag himself clear of the cloud a sorcerer had placed over him many years ago. He could not save even his honour brother.

A Marine approached the captain, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Nikolai…'

Riktovi stood and faced his brother. 'Ordnatev. It is good to see you, brother.'

Captain Vissar Ordnatev inclined his head. 'And you. I am sorry for your losses. Preaore was a hard fight. Their sacrifices will be remembered.'

Riktovi nodded. 'Their souls are with the Emperor now. All we can do is struggle on.'

'Aye, that is true. How is Lenikov faring?'

'He's bad. His soul wanders the Wastes, or so the Chaplains say. He refuses to talk to anyone. He is actually seeking death.'

'And his new squad?'

'He may not lead them.' Riktovi lead the way out of the chapel, and into the bright Anguran sun. He gazed at the cluster of wooden buildings around him. 'I don't know, Vissar. I fear for him.'

'The Emperor will watch over him, brother, as will we. Chaplain Igarka has gone to find him.'

'I'm not sure Lenikov has faith in the Emperor anymore. What makes you think Igarka will change that?'

Ordnatev shook his head. 'Nikolai, you forget. Chaplain Igarka is like a father to Brother Lenikov. He was the one to bring Lenikov into the Arctic Wolves.'

Riktovi watched the clouds slowly move across the sky. He listened to the crunch of snow underfoot as civilians walked by. Eventually he said, 'Aye, that is true.'

* * *

The Thunderhawk flew over an endless expanse of ice. Snow blew across the frozen ocean with the wind. Angura's sun reflected brightly off the pure, pristine field. This was the heart of Angura. A barren, windswept plain of ice and snow that nearly covered the entire planet. This was the Frozen Wastes, the ocean that once teemed with life in the ancient times. Chaplain Igarka gazed at the field, a faint smile touching his lips. His eyes rested on a single figure below them. He turned to the pilot. 'Set down here.'

'Aye, father.'

The Thunderhawk Gunship settled down lightly on the ice. Snow blew around it; the wind beat at its hull. Igarka stepped into freezing temperatures. He could barely make out the solitary figure walking away from him. He marched up to the Marine's side. 'You are a hard man to find, Brother Lenikov.'

The sergeant ignored him and kept walking. He scanned the horizon, eyes darting from distant mountain to distant mountain. Igarka followed his gaze and saw nothing. He shook his head. 'What are you doing, brother? Are you seeking death? Is that why you wander these Wastes alone?'

Lenikov glared at him. 'What does it matter to you?'

'What does it matter to me? Brother Lenikov, do you know the will of the Emperor? Do you know His plan? Can you see what He has ordained and what paths He has set forth for us all?' Lenikov said nothing, and Igarka continued. 'No, you don't. You don't know whether or not you are supposed to live, you don't know whether or not Brother Firen was supposed to live-'

Lenikov stepped closer to the chaplain and shouted. '_Leave Firen out of this!_ What do _you_ know of loss? Sure, you know about losing friends. We all do. But have you had an honour brother? Do you know what that even _means_? No! I don't either, but I know it is a bond almost no Marine ever experiences. I know you will never experience it. I know you know nothing of the pain of losing a brother tied by this bond.'

'Then educate me, Kyr.'

Lenikov stared at him. He turned away from the chaplain, tears coming to his eyes. He gazed at the snow, picturing his brother's face. 'It cuts at you, like nothing you've ever experienced before. It tears you in half, ripping at your very soul. You lose all sense of who you are, you forget your purpose in life. You will never remember. _I _will never remember. Igarka, the Emperor is truly a god? He is the protector of Mankind?'

'Of course, Brother Lenikov. He led us into the stars and fought to protect us from our darkest selves. Even now, He defends us and leads us.'

'_Then why did He let Firen die?_'

'I do not know. I will never know. Maybe you should ask Him that, rather than ask why you lived. If you do not, then even you will never know. We mortals cannot ever hope to perceive His plan. However, we can know that He has a reason for everything He does, for every life He gives and takes.'

Lenikov gazed at the chaplain in confusion. Igarka gave him a small, kind smile. It spoke of centuries of pain and sadness. 'Come, Brother Lenikov, let us ask why your brother had to die. Maybe you will be answered.' Igarka knelt and began to pray. After a moment, Lenikov knelt beside him, and for the first time in weeks, spoke to his god.


	2. Chapter 1

'_What are we, but servants of a greater_

_power? We cannot hope to forge a path_

_in this universe without the guidance of_

_the Emperor. It is too cruel a place_

_for us to survive alone.'_

Chapter 1

Captain Riktovi clutched at his chest as pain swept through him. He grimaced, losing his breath. His hearts fluttered, barely keeping up with his body's demands. For perhaps the thousandth time he cursed the soul of a sorcerer named Armadon. He could still feel the heretic's steel talons clawing at his mind and ripping through his chest. He felt phantom memories of the traitors mind invading his own. He winced, the memories agonizingly clear.

Riktovi moved aside to let a group of civilian hunters and trappers pass, the snow crunching under their feet. He gazed at the dwellings around him. Most of these simple, wooden buildings were actually the living quarters of individual Marines, rather than civilians or Guardsmen; their homes were further down the path. The Arctic Wolves, unlike most Chapters, did not have a strong central fortress made of steel and stone. Instead, they were spread across the village of Novgorod in small, wooden huts much like those of the other inhabitants of Angura. They lived as the civilians lived, and gave whatever luxuries came their way to the people they were protecting rather than keep them for themselves. The populace of Angura loved them for it.

A group of children followed in Riktovi's wake, awestruck, as he made his way through the village. The captain paused and glanced back at them, smiling. On an impulse, he reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a small, beautifully carved object. It was a rendering of the Angel Sanguinius, seemingly gazing down at his children with fierce pride and love. His wings were spread behind him, embracing the sky and its limitless expanse. His arms were at his side, hands open as though he were reaching for his sons and daughters below him. It'd taken Riktovi weeks to carve.

He knelt in the snow and beckoned the youngest child forward. She couldn't be older than six, he thought. Smiling, he placed the carving in her hand and whispered, 'Take good care of this, young one. Through it, may the Angel watch over and keep you safe.' The girl stared at the object in awe, seeing only the beauty, the care that had gone into its creation. Riktovi clasped the girl's hands in his own for a moment before standing and continuing on his way. He marveled at the boundless joy children gave their parents, knowing full well he would never feel it. He shook his head and realized he didn't know whether or not he regretted that.

Standing in the entrance hall of the communications building, Riktovi glanced back at the child. Now her mother was at her side, gazing at the gift with a hint of wonder while her daughter clutched it to her chest. At the time of its carving, the captain had no real idea of why he felt the desire to create it. He supposed there might be a reason he didn't see, maybe a message the Angel expected him to find. Pushing the matter from his mind, Riktovi turned and entered a side room. Stepping beside the Tech-Marine working at the vox console, he spoke.

'Has the Inquisitor's message arrived yet?'

Ever since the Fall of Preaore, Inquisitor Patrova Vassilevski and Captain Riktovi had been exchanging messages, updating each other on the known movements of the Word Bearers and the status of the Hunters Chapter. From what Riktovi had gathered, the Hunters were retreating towards Terra, and the Word Bearers had all but disappeared from the sector. The Tech-Marine glanced at his captain. 'We're receiving it now. By the looks of it, something's happened.'

'How long before it's ready?'

The Tech-Marine hesitated before answering. 'About half a standard hour, Captain.'

Riktovi nodded. 'I'll be back in a bit.'

* * *

Sergeant Lenikov hesitated. His hearts pounded hard in his chest and he glanced at Chaplain Igarka for reassurance. The old Marine gave him a grim smile and nodded. Drawing strength from his mentor, Lenikov entered the squad quarters. Conversation stopped as the nine Marines inside turned their gazes towards him. They stood frozen, staring at Lenikov in surprise and more than a little awe. They'd only been granted full Battle-Brother honours a few days ago, and here was a legend, stepping forward to meet them.

Lenikov gazed at the Marines, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. His haunted eyes passed over each Arctic Wolf in turn, passing judgment and causing them to step back with the force of his stare. Igarka shook his head and stepped forward.

'Kyr Lenikov, these are Brothers Leonid Durri, Azur Matinov, Tyron Rovsky, Vind Devanovsky, Korrin Reminov, Lavon Mendelev, Iosef Kalinovi, Drrion Valinov, and Lanik Trianovik. These are the members of your new squad. Try to remember what I told you. Do not hold them to unattainable standards. Do not treat them as worthless. Do not treat them as though they are to blame for the deaths of your previous squad mates. They will do their best for you, and that's all you can ask of them.

Igarka stared at Lenikov a moment longer before leaving. The sergeant took a deep breath and turned to his "new squad." In his opinion they looked too young to be wearing Arctic Wolf power armour. It'd been too long since he'd been around new Marines. 'Stop staring,' he snarled, his voice hard and cold. Immediately they focused their attention elsewhere. Stepping past them, he settled onto the only empty bunk in the room, against the back wall and recessed in shadow. Lowering his head to his hands, Lenikov let out a long, quiet sigh. He couldn't see how there'd ever be any kind of _replacement_ for his previous group. It was impossible. Someway, somehow, he'd ensure his solitude. He didn't deserve command. Belatedly he realized they were staring again. 'What?' He snapped.

One of the Marines slowly stepped forward. Taking a deep breath that seemed to go on forever, he spoke and held out a hand. 'Sergeant Lenikov, it is an honour. I am Brother Mendelev. We are blessed to have you with us.'

Lenikov stared at the young Marine for a moment before shutting his eyes. He shoved down his anger and resentment, disgusted with himself. He had no real right to feel any animosity towards the Wolf. When his eyes opened Mendelev's face was a mask of concern. 'Sergeant?'

'You're _"blessed?_" Is that what you said?'

Mendelev glanced nervously at his brothers. 'Aye.'

'Hmm. You're blessed… Well that's good news to me, because if you weren't then you'd die in your first engagement. You don't want to be around me. You know what happened to my friends, to my Battle-Brothers? Sure they died, that's obvious. But do you know what actually _happened_?'

'Uh, no.'

Lenikov shook his head. 'I didn't think so. Well, there was a Brother Rokovski. He was shot in the face during an ambush. Then there was Brother Ventrek, chest shattered to pieces during the rescue of a downed Hunters Marine. He died because of the cowardice of a group of Guardsmen, he did. Brother Pavlov, let's see… He fell to the Rage and Thirst in the middle of a vast crowd of civilians. You can imagine what happened then.'

Mendelev blanched and took a step back. 'I'm sorry…'

'What?' Lenikov looked up at him. 'Oh, don't be sorry, I'm not done yet. Brother Loranev was caught in a psyker blast, bones shattered and stripped of flesh. Apothecary Nordvik was flattened like a bug by the same psyker. Brother Rustyik was caught in a wave of daemons, overwhelmed and made into a meal. Only the Emperor knows what happened to the people he was escorting.' Lenikov's face became thoughtful. 'Come to think of it, only the Emperor knows what came of the children Pavlov was escorting…'

Mendelev and his fellow Marines grew even paler at those words. They didn't want to, couldn't follow that train of thought.

'Our very own Captain Riktovi had his heart torn out by the aforementioned warp-damned psyker. An Archangels sergeant named Ekthalon was vaporized, and almost his entire squad was slaughtered, still by the same sorcerer. A Hunters sergeant named Darrier Firen was - was…' Lenikov couldn't finish the sentence. He struggled to regain control as tears came to his eyes and anger paired with unendurable grief, agony, and guilt rose in him. 'He-'

'Sergeant?' Mendelev knelt in front of the Marine. He shook his head. 'I'm so very sorry…'

'Don't you talk to me! Don't you say you're sorry to me! _Get away!_'

Trianovik stepped forward. 'Come, Mendelev. He wishes to be left alone with his grief, let's accommodate him.'

Mendelev hesitated, glancing at Trianovik before returning his gaze to Lenikov. His resistance wilted under the sergeant's cold glare. He nodded. The squad left the room, leaving the sergeant alone. One of the young Marines decided to remain and sat on a bunk near the door. Lenikov ignored him. It seemed as though these young ones were determined to cause him grief. Once he'd finally regained some measure of control over his emotions, he glanced over to see which of the Marines had stayed. He didn't remember this one's name.

'Sergeant, I am Tyron Rovsky. I am indeed sorry for your loss. However, I will not leave you alone, nor should anyone else. We all know what individuals with torn souls have done, even Marines. You need help, sergeant. You know you do. That's why you allowed Father Igarka to bring you here.'

'Help? There is nobody in this realm who can help me. And that is why I allowed my Father to bring me here. I want to return to battle, so that I may go to the one who _can_ help me.'

'Lenikov, the Emperor will help you in His own time. You cannot rush Him. Do not throw your life away just so that you may see Him sooner. We need you here.'

'You don't even know me, and you profess to care so much whether or not I die. Why is that?'

'In truth, sergeant, I don't. You can die a hundred times for all I care. It would seem as though you certainly want to. You don't care about anyone around you, if you ever did. Therefore, I don't care about you. But we just received battle-brother honours, and we deserve to fight. We deserve to have a commander, not to be knocked back down to the scouts. I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to let you throw us back to that.'

'Oh, _you_ refuse?'

'Yes sergeant, I refuse. Out of all of us, I will be the one to refuse you. Not for myself of course, though it likely would be if that were the only reason I had. No, I refuse to allow you to forsake us for the sakes of the others, in particular for Brother Mendelev. He has struggled for far longer than the rest of us, having already served in the Scout Company for a decade before we were taken in. He has had trouble coping with the implants he received, and has even more trouble adjusting to the life of a Marine. The only things he's got in his favor are his will to go on, and the hope he sustains to one day be worthy of the honour bestowed upon him. He would not survive, if you were to throw him away. Therefore, I will be there for him, to smooth the way and to protect him, as you should.'

Lenikov shrugged. 'So be it.'

'Now, what happened to the Hunters sergeant you mentioned earlier?'

Lenikov glared at him. 'What makes you think I'd tell you that?'

'Finish your monologue. What happened?'

'You don't need to know.'

'Sergeant, get it off your chest. What _happened_?'

'_He died!_ He was my honour brother, and I let him down. I _watched_ him die! There was nothing I could do…'

'That's better. Who killed him?'

'A piece of traitorous filth named Armadon.'

'And what happened to him?'

'He was destroyed, stabbed by the bravest and strongest Marine I've ever known.'

'Who?'

Lenikov shook his head. 'A man named Ekthalon, of the Archangels.'

'Who are the Archangels?'

'Probably the most elite Chapter in the Imperium. They strike where they are needed, and their foes are dead before they know they are under attack. The Archangels are staunchly loyal to the Emperor. They are the best.'

* * *

Riktovi thanked the Tech-Marine and stepped away from the console. Lifting the small paper to the light, he began to read:

IMPERIAL INQUISITOR PATROVA VASSILEVSKI TO ASTARTES CAPTAIN NIKOLAI RIKTOVI. _Nikolai, it was good to hear from you again. I heard Sergeant Lenikov has been assigned to a new squad, but refuses to accept it. I am sorry. We both know he has the strength to move on, let us hope he can find it. For his sake. The Hunters Chapter is still on course for Terra. They apparently wish to speak to the High Lords and petition for a crusade into the Maelstrom. Still no word of the Word Bearers. However, there is news of import concerning another Legion. I cannot say anything through a message. Expect me within a few days after this message. Your friend, Patrova. _MESSAGE ENDS.

Riktovi swore, not because the Hunters were likely going to get themselves killed in their crusade, although he knew that was bad – but because Vassilevski was on her way. She would use his quarters of course, he would move to one on the squad barracks. He turned and marched into the biting cold. Glancing around him, he realized night had fallen. The moonlight reflected gently off the snow. The captain began drafting plans to prepare for the Inquisitor's arrival. It was tradition to hold a hunt in the honour of visiting officials, using the prey in a banquet later that night.

Riktovi paused. Thinking he may as well warn the Chapter Master, he spun on his heels and marched in the opposite direction. He gazed at the vast field of stars in the night sky. It was amazing what the universe could show you, the beauty it could hold if you took the time to see it. It took his breath away. He stood, just staring at the stars, the moon, the endless snow for a few moments. He took a deep breath, allowing the refreshingly cold Anguran air to fill his lungs. For the briefest of moments, his chest was free from the usual dull ache he'd not quite grown to live with.

Then he remembered what he was doing. The Inquisitor was coming. He followed the well-trodden path to the edge of the village. Turning towards what was perhaps the smallest hut on the face of the planet, he knocked twice. Hearing muttered curses and grumbling within, he knew he'd woken the Chapter Master. He stepped back to avoid being hit by the door as it swung open. Smiling at the old Marine before him, Riktovi bowed to the commander of the Arctic Wolves.

'Even Marines need sleep after four weeks of not doing so. This better be good, Nikolai.'

Riktovi bowed again. 'It is, commander. We have an Inquisitor en route. She'll be arriving in a few days. Her name is Patrova Vassilevski.'

'We'll talk tomorrow,' the commander said, closing the door. Riktovi blocked it with his foot.

'With respect, Brother Voychev, we should not put off the preparations for her arrival.'

Voychev's eyes narrowed. 'You just said she'll be here in a few days. That gives us time.'

Riktovi assumed a mask of feigned seriousness. 'Inquisitors coat their words in lies, commander. Her definition of "a few days" may be unrecognizable to us. She may arrive tomorrow just to throw us off and to make a rather dramatic entrance.'

The Chapter Master let out an exasperated sigh. 'Fine, enter.' He stepped away from the door and let it swing open. He sat on his bunk. Riktovi followed him inside. 'I'm getting old, Nikolai. I shouldn't be awake at this hour.'

Riktovi smirked. He was only a few years Voychev's junior and he knew it. 'I am deeply, truly sorry for keeping you up, brother. Now, what will we hunt this time? Raptor or Wolf?'

The Velocitine Raptors inhabited the mountains of the world. Half as tall as a man, the lizards had four legs ending in massive claws and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. Their scaled armour was impervious to all but the most powerful attacks. They patrolled their realm in fierce packs, always fighting to defend their nests.

The Anguran Wolf on the other hand, was the most dangerous creature in the sector. The average wolf was as tall as a Marine, sporting six heavily muscled legs. Its jaws could crush a small boulder, and its claws could tear through ceramite. The Anguran Wolves moved faster than Marines could run, and traveled in groups of two at most times – usually a male and female: mates. Their pups would grow to maturity in only seven days. The wolves were the ultimate predators.

Voychev rolled his eyes at the question. 'Wolves, of course.'

Riktovi nodded. 'Yes commander. I would like to lead the honour guard when Patrova lands.'

'Inquisitor Vassilevski.'

'What?'

Voychev shook his head. 'Her name is Inquisitor Vassilevski.'

'Of course, commander, I apologize. I would like to lead the honour guard when Inquisitor Vassilevski lands.'

'Naturally. Back to our other topic, who will lead the hunt?'

'I rather thought Sergeant Lenikov could.'

'Lenikov? Are you sure?'

'He's not going to change anytime soon, and he needs to get it through his head that he does have a new squad now. Once they are in danger, he will feel a natural urge to protect them. It may bring them together.'

Voychev folded his hands, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched across his bunk. 'That is what you hope.'

Riktovi nodded. 'Aye, that is what I hope.'

'So be it. What will the Inquisitor be doing in her stay, and what is the actual purpose of her visit?'

'Well commander, I figured she could be taken to visit the Nikols Filruk Mountains. She might like their rugged beauty. As for her purpose, she claims to have an important message that is too "sensitive" to be sent through the standard channels.'

'Just keep her away from the outpost.'

'She is trustworthy, commander. And the message is for me.'

Voychev gazed deep into Riktovi's eyes. 'She is your friend, captain?'

'Yes.'

'Be careful, Nikolai. I understand you believe she is different, but _no_ Inquisitor is trustworthy. They lie every day of their lives; they cannot help it. It comes with the job of hunting down heretics. They use people. Don't get too close, or you may get hurt more than you can ever imagine.'

Riktovi clenched his jaw. 'Your advice is noted, commander.'

'That is all I ask. You are dismissed.'

Riktovi bowed and left the building. He marched at a furious pace through the snow, ignoring the frigid air. He struggled to marshal his anger, muttering to himself. Voychev had a right to voice his concerns, but Riktovi knew, just _knew_, he was wrong. Patrova Vassilevski would never use anyone, certainly not him. Their friendship, despite being relatively new, was too strong. Lying, however, was a different story. While he was pretty sure she would not lie to him, he wasn't so certain where anyone else was concerned.

He paused. He supposed he should go ahead and tell Lenikov too. Turning down a side path, he increased his pace until he came to the first of the squad barracks. Noting the insignia on the outer door, he passed it by. A gust of wind slammed into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. He glanced up at the clouds. _Storm's coming, _he thought. _A big one._ He shrugged and continued on. Passing three more squad quarters he finally turned and opened a door. Stepping inside, he was not surprised to see the young Marines still up and about. He _was_ surprised to note the absence of Lenikov.

One of the Marines – he thought his name was Rovsky – saw the captain and guessed accurately who he was looking for. 'Sergeant Lenikov is at the chapel, captain. He said he'd be back with the hour.'

Riktovi nodded and sat down on a bunk. He figured he could use this time to get to know his newest Marines. 'Thank you. So, brother, how are you getting along?'

* * *

'Death and destruction, pain and grief… is that all I can create?' Lenikov gazed beseechingly at the representation of the Emperor. 'Is that all I cause?'

The darkness of the silent chapel surrounded him and he embraced it. The cold of Angura clasped him, frosting over his armour. His breath hovered in front of him. His shoulder ached where his skin and muscle bonded with the freezing metal of his replacement arm. He was kneeling alone before the Emperor. He lowered his gaze, bowing his head.

'If so, then why did I live?' His voice was a whisper, but still it seemed to echo off the walls. 'My brothers – Loranev, Rustyik, all of them – could do so much more good than I. Why not save them?'

He struggled to control his emotions, to contain his pain and grief. He felt a rising anger and tried to shove it down. He did not succeed. His fury combined whit his grief, and erupted in a roar that echoed throughout the chapel, slamming into him and driving him to his hands and knees, snatching away his breath. 'Why do you never answer?' he whispered.

The fury still burned in him, smothering his other emotions and thoughts. He stood and threw his helm across the room, watching as it broke apart against the wall. He shouted, _'Why do you never answer? Why did I live? For Terra's sake, why?'_

His anger became pain as he was met yet again with a cold silence. A moan of anguish escaped him and he sank to his knees. Cradling his head in his hands, Lenikov struggled to remember the Litanies of Purity and Strength. All his life they'd been there if he needed them. He'd always been able to recite every Litany and prayer he'd ever been taught. Now they escaped him. In time, he stood and left the building. Once again, he was truly alone in the universe.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

'I what?'

Inwardly, Riktovi sighed. He should have known better than to be optimistic. 'You have been chosen to lead three of your squad mates in a hunt against the Anguran Wolves.'

'No, no that's not what you said. You said "three of my brothers."' Lenikov waved a hand at empty air. 'My brothers are all dead! Every last one of them!'

'No, Sergeant Lenikov. That is not true, for all Marines are brothers.'

'Just send me alone.'

'On the hunt?'

Lenikov nodded once and sat on his bunk. He stared at the floor, not daring to raise his eyes and allow his captain to see the hope that burned in them.

'No sergeant. You would die.'

Lenikov launched himself off the bunk. His hope was replaced by anger and despair. 'Exactly! Can't you see? Can't anybody see? I _want_ to die!'

Riktovi laid a hand on Lenikov's shoulder. 'Don't say that, brother.'

Lenikov jerked away from Riktovi's touch like a wounded animal. 'Don't call me that. You are not my brother.'

Riktovi hesitated. Lenikov's words were like a slap in the face. Taking a deep breath, he continued. 'Many of those who died deserved life. Many of those who lived deserved death. But also, there are those of us who deserve exactly what we have. Who are we to choose who deserves what? We must leave that to the Emperor, Lenikov.'

Lenikov laughed, but it held no joy. 'The Emperor? The great, all-powerful God-Emperor of Mankind?' His smile hardened. 'He does not care. He would let us all die if it amused Him, which I daresay it does. He is a silent god.'

'The Emperor is never silent. You just need to actually want to hear Him.'

Lenikov shook his head, his cold grin fading. 'Are we done, captain?'

'You will lead the hunt?'

'If that is your order,' the sergeant mumbled. He hung his head and hid his face in shadow.

Riktovi nodded. 'It is. We will speak later.'

Lenikov kept his eyes on the floor, but motioned with one hand towards the entrance. His voice was quiet. 'Please, just go. Leave me in peace.'

The captain hesitated, then nodded and left. He'd heard the pain in Lenikov's voice. It saddened him to see the sergeant go through so much, only to be brought low with a single gunshot. Captain Ordnatev had once told him that Lenikov was a Marine, and Marines endure. Riktovi had responded by saying Marines were still human, and all humans had their breaking points.

He glanced around him at the villagers rushing by. They could tell, as he had the night before, that a storm was nearing. Within an hour they would be safely inside the Shelter, an underground complex that stretched the length of the village. It had originally been built when Angura was still too inhospitable for the settlers to live on the surface, nearly seven and a half thousand years ago. Made of stone and adamantium, it was as strong as a starship hull, if not stronger. It lay fifteen kilometers below the surface, and was therefore the most secure and safest place on Angura.

It was, however, a double-edged sword. With only two sets of entrances, it could keep the citizens of Angura safe if the planet were attacked. If the Guardsmen and Marines on the planet were all killed, then the facility would become a slaughter ground. The civilians would not be able to escape in time.

It was for that reason the Arctic Wolves did not use it as their fortress. They kept their relics and greatest treasures hidden deep within the complex, but also kept a failsafe. The entire compound was rigged with explosives that, upon detonation, would collapse it and blast a crater thirty kilometers wide in the face of the planet. As to who would activate those explosives, that task was left to a single Terminator Marine who would be stationed there during an attack.

Riktovi shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Thinking ahead to Inquisitor Vassilevski's arrival, he went over the plans he'd made thus far. He would lead the honour guard in greeting. She would use his quarters while he stayed with his command squad. The hunt was for Anguran Wolves, led by Sergeant Lenikov. In her spare time – if she had any – she would be taken to the Nikols Filruk Mountain Range, if she desired.

He turned towards the chapel, debating whether or not to tell Chaplain Igarka how Lenikov felt about the Emperor. Some priests might consider the sergeants words heresy. They were certainly dispiriting. He increased his pace. Lenikov was a battle-brother, and needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. The remaining preparations for Inquisitor Vassilevski's arrival could wait. He turned onto another, less traveled path. Breaking into a jog, the captain rushed towards the chapel.

* * *

Brother Ulitsk Igarka finished his prayers and slowly stood. His ancient bones almost seemed to creak with the movement. Dousing the candles around him, he replaced them on the altar. The chaplain bowed his head once more to the Emperor and gathered up his Crozius. It echoed throughout the chapel as he leaned his weight against it and walked down the center aisle. He gazed around him.

This chapel was his domain. It was his livelihood. He'd spent decades –no, centuries – maintaining it. It was his home and soul. He rested his hand on the final pew, allowing himself a momentary feeling of pride and joy. He'd actually built this chapel himself, after the old one had been destroyed in a freak storm. He'd built the walls to stand against the ravages of Angura, and indeed they had done their job well. Igarka smiled a moment before pushing his emotions inside of him.

No sooner had he done so when the large doors opened and let the howling Anguran winds into the hall. A Marine stumbled inside and quickly slammed the doors shut. The newcomer glanced over at Igarka and smiled. 'This planet will be the death of us.'

'Not before our time, I think,' replied the chaplain. 'What can I do for you, Captain Riktovi?'

'It's Lenikov. I fear that he may actually hate the Emperor.'

Igarka shook his head. He faced the Emperor's statue. 'No, Lenikov does not hate Him. He loves the Emperor move then he ever has before.'

Riktovi stepped alongside him. 'Care to explain?'

'When a person is hurt, or is going through a time of trial, they try to reach out to someone for help. Even if they do not realize they are doing it, they do. Now, while most Marines would have gone to you, Commander Voychev, or me, Sergeant Lenikov went straight to the Emperor. Admittedly, the sergeant is probably the most loyal of us all. He loves our Father more than any one of us. It is understandable that he feels anger towards Him, if not exactly warranted,' Igarka sat and motioned for Riktovi to sit as well. 'He feels that the Emperor is not truly answering his prayers. However, at the same time he knows that is not the case. He knows that his continued survival is our Father's answer. Lenikov simply wishes it were not true.'

Riktovi shook his head, confused. 'Why?'

'Because he feels that he let his honour brother down. He believes that he allowed Firen to die, and that he could have found some way to save him had he tried harder. The sergeant believes that it was his fault his squad mates died, his fault that Ekthalon died. Simply put, he blames himself for that which he had no control over.'

'And can we get him to think otherwise?'

'No, captain, we cannot. He has to realize the truth for himself. All we can do is guide him and protect him to the best of our abilities.'

'Some plan that is. I suppose it's not like I have a choice though, is it?' Riktovi grinned at the older Marine.

'No captain, it is not.'

Riktovi stood. 'Thank you for your wise words, Father.' He bowed to the Emperor and left the chapel, battling the hellish Anguran winds to pull the doors shut behind him. The gusts of wind slammed into him, threatening to lift the captain off his feet. He instinctively ducked as a hut was ripped from the ground and thrown over him. It shattered against the unyielding walls of the chapel. _Igarka built that place well._

Riktovi struggled forward, quickly losing sight of the buildings around him. The snow came down heavily, blinding him and nearly making it impossible to move forward. Thinking it would have been better if he'd stayed in the chapel, Riktovi laughed at the irony he saw in this. It didn't matter how many enemies he defeated, or how strong they were; Angura would always be able to kick him down one side of the continent and back up the other. His bark of laughter was stolen by the wind the moment it left his mouth.

Still grinning, Riktovi forced his way forward in the vague direction of his quarters.

* * *

Lenikov sat, immobile, on the floor of his squad barrack as the wind of Angura powered into the walls, shaking the building. The other Marines sparred or simply talked to pass the time. Occasionally one or all of them would glance in his direction. He ignored them every time. The sergeant stared at the floor, the walls, anything but the Marines behind him. He knew he'd have to confront them eventually. He even knew it would be better to just get it over with rather than drag it out, but he just couldn't bring himself to speak.

He fumed at himself. He was angry with his captain, and resented the Arctic Wolves behind him more than anything. He knew he had no reason to do so, no right. He did not know why he did, but assumed it was because of what they represented. He hated himself for his weakness, his inability to move on. He should be stronger. He should hold true to what Firen, Loranev, Rustyik, and Pavlov would expect of him. He smiled grimly as he realized those were the only names that came to mind when he thought of his previous squad. He had to actually think to bring up the other names.

Lenikov did not think that meant he was forgetting them. To him, it simply meant the first four meant more to him. His smile faded. It didn't matter how much they meant to him, they were gone now. He had to get over that fact. Turning, very slowly and quietly, he gazed at the younger Marines. They seemed to be so young, so carefree despite their time in the Scout Company. Only one of them bore any scars, and that was Brother Mendelev.

The sergeant took a moment to consider the Marine. From what he'd been told, Mendelev had a little trouble coordinating himself and adjusting to the body and power armour of a Marine. He was completely engrossed in his combat practice. His movements slowly gained speed, eventually outpacing his opponent. After that it was quickly over, with Brother Rovsky the loser. It took Mendelev a moment to realize he'd won. It was the first time he'd beaten anybody. Once the realization dawned on him, he beamed. His happiness spread to the rest of the group as they clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Fort the briefest of moments, Mendelev's gaze flickered to Lenikov. The sergeant knew he was seeking approval.

Try as he might, Lenikov could not suppress a small desire to join them, to heartily congratulate the Marine. He could not help but wish to be a part of their happiness, their camaraderie. He knew he couldn't. Not wishing to sadden the Marine, Lenikov nodded. Mendelev's grin grew wider as he enjoyed his moment of success. Then Rovsky's gaze came around and Lenikov's face hardened. The sergeant stood.

'Mendelev, Rovsky, and you,' Lenikov struggled with the name for a second. 'Kalinovi. You three will accompany me on the hunt when the Inquisitor arrives.'

Rovsky nodded and Kalinovi stared at Lenikov, confused. Mendelev stepped forward. 'Thank you sergeant. I am honoured.'

Lenikov shrugged and moved to his bunk. He slowly removed each piece of his armour and placed them on it. He then proceeded to clean them, slowly and determinedly. Losing himself in the mindlessness of it, he quickly lost track of time. Mendelev watched his slow, purposeful methods as though he were learning something infinitely valuable. The others returned to their conversations. After Lenikov finished cleaning his gear, he glanced about him. The Marines were scattered about the room, talking in small groups. Mendelev sat nearby, still watching the sergeant. Lenikov beckoned him over.

'Mendelev, what is your first name?'

'Lavon, sergeant.' Mendelev stood before his commander as though he were under inspection. Lenikov motioned for him to sit down.

'Do you know what it means?'

Mendelev shook his head. 'I don't understand you.'

'For example, my first name is Kyr. It means "suffer." My family name is – obviously – Lenikov. It means "savior," funnily enough.' Lenikov gave a small, sad smile. 'Individually each of those mean nothing. Together, they mean that I suffer to save others. At least that's what the fates decreed at my birth, if you believe in that kind of thing. Personally I don't see how it could be true.'

'I do.'

Lenikov smirked. 'Enlighten me, please.'

'Well, it's pretty obvious that you suffer. Anyone could see it. Your brothers were killed, your closest friend murdered right in front of you. It's only natural that you suffer.'

'That's enough.'

'Hear me out, sergeant. You suffer, but you are still with us. You are making an effort to move on, if only a small one. You still have a purpose, a destiny laid down by the Emperor for you to fulfill. Now, I'm not saying I know His will or anything, but whatever that purpose is, I'm sure it's for the better. You are special, sergeant. I'm not the only one to see it either. You will accomplish something great, and through your actions, will save countless lives. You live, suffer, and grieve so others don't have to. You will die, so others don't have to.'

Lenikov began to speak, then stopped. He frowned. 'Why do you say that?'

Mendelev shrugged. 'Because I believe it with all my heart. We all have our flaws. You can overcome them. You will not let us down.'

'I thank you for your kind words and your faith in me. I do not deserve them.'

'Everyone deserves kindness and loyalty, sergeant. Everyone deserves forgiveness. Why would you be any different?'

'My mistakes are unforgivable. I let too many people down.'

'You didn't let anybody down.'

'I watched my honour brother die. I allowed my entire squad to die. I could not save any one of the eight billion civilians of Preaore. Yeah, I think I let them down.'

'That was through no fault of your own. Only the Emperor can decree who lives or dies. We may be Marines, but we are still human. We cannot save everyone.'

'We can try.'

'Aye, that we can. And we can die trying too. But that would be pointless. We cannot throw our lives away to change something that is outside of our control.'

'Why do you say that it is outside of our control?'

'Because no matter what you do, or how hard you try, someone will die. It is inevitable.'

'I will lay my life down to protect them first.'

Mendelev smiled. 'I know. Now tell me again, what does your name mean?'

Lenikov hesitated, then smirked as he realized what the younger Marine had done. 'I suffer to save others.'

'Exactly.'

* * *

The snow stretched on, endless, from the base of the mountains to the far distant horizon. Moonlight glared off the pristine carpet, reflecting the light of the heavens. The wind barely stirred. The night was silent. Captain Vissar Ordnatev gazed at the star-filled sky with a sense of awe and a slight tinge of foreboding. The galaxy was a big place. As beautiful as it may be, it would still kill you if you were not careful. There were countless untold terrors that claimed lives each day. Xenos, traitors, even nature at times, all conspired to bring down Humanity and strip the flesh from its bones.

He turned and continued on his way. Boots crunching on the dry snow, the captain slowly drew nearer to the mountains. He walked with his bolter at the ready, with his finger on the trigger. In these lands, it was a better idea to do so, or you would die. Ordnatev smirked. He might still die. Hunting an Anguran Wolf was not an easy thing, after all. Finding it would be no trouble; it would actually find _him_. The problem was what came next. Ordnatev supposed he would kill it, but things didn't always turn out the way a person hoped. Not many people survived an encounter with one of these wolves. With more than a little luck and a blessing from the Emperor, Ordnatev would. It would only be the second time in his life he'd have fought one.

He winced as the memory washed over him. It had been an epic and terrifying battle. He'd very nearly been killed. Four other Marines _had_ been killed. There were only three wolves: two mates and another male that had not yet left its parents. The three mature wolves ambushed the six Marines on their way through the mountains. The Marines were returning from a month of survival exercises with the Guardsmen at Nikolskoe. Two of them survived, one of whom was so wounded he had to be interred within a Dreadnought.

A howl echoed through the mountains, splitting the frosty air. Ordnatev's pulse quickened and his breath caught in his throat. He said a brief prayer for Brother Kortinev – the Marine in the Dreadnought – and readied his chainsword. He pulled out his combat knife with his free hand, reversing his grip. The howl still rebounding off the peaks, Ordnatev grinned savagely at the great beast loping down the mountain towards him. His fate was in the Emperor's hands now. So was the Wolf's.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

With the sun bearing down on him, Captain Riktovi waited patiently for the dropship to land. He'd received word from the Chapter Master – who'd received word from the ships above – about an hour ago that an Inquisitorial Battlecruiser had warped into orbit. A single dropship was dispatched, quickly sinking into the atmosphere. Before running to the landing site, Riktovi had told Lenikov to begin his hunt. He'd been surprised at the sergeant's willingness to comply.

Shooting across the barren snowscape, the dropship zeroed in on the squad of Marines. Engines flaring, it stalled and hovered over him. Finally, it dropped to the ground, throwing snow a dozen meters in every direction. Silence embraced the captain as the engines were shut down. A moment later, the embarkation ramp lowered and a woman stepped out into the light of Angura. Riktovi couldn't help but smile at her surprise at the cold. He bounded forward and clasped her hands in his own, bowing low.

'Patrova…'

Her shoulder-length brown hair shone in the light. She smiled. 'Um, Nikolai…' Her brilliant green eyes flickered behind him.

The captain glanced around and saw his command squad grinning at him. He glared at them a moment before stepping away from the Inquisitor. 'Right. Inquisitor Vassilevski, on behalf of Commander Voychev and the Arctic Wolves Chapter, I welcome you to Angura. We are honoured by your presence.'

'Thank you captain.'

'If you'll accompany me, the commander is waiting.'

Vassilevski nodded and followed Riktovi to the front of the small group. Together, they began the march back to Novgorod. The captain moved ahead of her, clearing a path through the snow. She glanced up at him.

'How is your chest?' She asked, referring to one of the wounds he sustained on Preaore.

Riktovi grimaced. 'It still troubles me. The pain is strong and constant, but bearable. Having your hear ripped out is not a particularly pleasant experience, but I suppose that's why Marines have two.'

Vassilevski watched him a moment. 'And your arm?'

The captain held it in front of him. Her words conjured phantom memories of pain in his shoulder. 'Better. There is no pain. It is purely mechanical. How have you been, Patrova?'

'Busy. I'll tell you later.'

Riktovi nodded. He would not press her for information. As they came within sight of the town, Vassilevski saw the civilians rebuilding their homes. She gazed in awe at the destruction, wincing as a Marine pulled a body from the rubble. Even with the devastation, there was a sense of happiness in the town. 'What happened?'

Riktovi shrugged. 'Angura tried to kill us again. There was a storm.'

Vassilevski glanced at him. She waved a hand at the civilians and Marines around them. 'They seem almost happy…'

'That is because they are still alive. Homes you can rebuild, lives you cannot. They have survived, and so they will rebuild and move on.'

Vassilevski noticed a group of Marines helping to clear rubble for an elderly couple. Farther away, another squad was already rebuilding the home of a widowed mother. Small groups of children chased each other over and around the ruins. A dog ran at their hells. No one noticed the Inquisitor among them.

As they neared the Chapter Master's quarters, they could make out his shouting amongst the other voices of civilians and Marines. He seemed to be frustrated.

'Ruska! Easy on the walls. Hey, easy! Dumb animal.' Despite his words, Voychev's voice held a warmth rarely seen or heard by those outside the Chapter. Riktovi and Vassilevski ducked the wall that came flying towards them. A giant wolf strode out of the destroyed hut it'd been trapped in on six powerful legs. Voychev ran his hand along the muzzle of the animal. It was taller than he was by about a foot, and Voychev was a tall Marine. 'Welcome to Angura, Inquisitor. Sorry about the mess, the mother of all storms passed through last night.'

Vassilevski didn't answer. She took two steps back from the massive canine. 'What is _that?'_

Riktovi opened his mouth to answer, but Voychev beat him to it.

'_She_ is Ruska, a friend of mine. She is undoubtedly the nicest wolf in the Imperium. Certainly the only one on Angura that won't kill you. '

'Why not?'

'I saved her when she was a pup a little over three hours old. Her parents had died fighting another, younger pack. I took her in, kept her safe, and she's returned that kindness a thousand times over.' He smiled at her hesitance to come closer. 'Do not worry, Inquisitor. She will not harm you, not unless you pose a threat to her or myself. She is actually very friendly once you get to know her.'

As if to prove this, Ruska suddenly trotted forward and sat down in front of Riktovi. She nudged him with her muzzle and he rubbed her head. 'She can smell your fear, Patrova. Try to calm down.'

Vassilevski nodded and made to step past the wolf. Its eyes followed her as she moved towards the Chapter Master. Voychev laughed at the Inquisitor's caution. Riktovi blinked in surprise at the commander's rare display of happiness. The motion did not pass unnoticed.

'Captain, you did not think I never had fun, did you?' He shook his head and faced Vassilevski. 'Inquisitor, I again welcome you to this world. I apologize, but it may be a while before I can get you some quarters.'

'Commander, she can use mine.'

Voychev nodded to Riktovi. 'That's one problem solved, then. I see you are unused to the cold. I will be sure to procure some more appropriate garments for you during your stay.'

'Thank you, Chapter Master.'

Voychev laughed. 'Please, it is just Voychev. I am nobody's master, and I am certainly not your commander. Come, Sergeant Lenikov is leading a hunt in your honour. Let us go see how he is faring. Later tonight, we will hold a banquet.'

Voychev bade Ruska goodbye and led the captain and Inquisitor to a waiting Thunderhawk. As soon as Vassilevski was settled, he signaled for the pilot to take off. The Inquisitor glanced out the open back of the gunship as it lifted into the air. She gaped as she now saw the scale of the destruction. All of Novgorod was in ruins. Most of the village had, quite literally, been flattened or tossed aside. Civilians and Marines struggled to clean up and rebuild, but it would take them many months to finish.

* * *

The howls and roars echoed around him. Lenikov spun, barely keeping the wolf in sight. His chainsword choked and died, clogged with gore. He tossed it to the ground and yanked his combat knife free of its sheath. He flipped the knife and threw it end over end. 'Mendelev!' He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the swiping claws.

Mendelev caught the flying knife and spun, jamming it deep into the neck of the second wolf. As the animal barreled into him and slammed him down, the blade shattered. It was all he could do to keep the animal's jaws from snapping shut on his face. He screamed at the wolf, his frustration manifesting in a primal challenge. Rovsky leapt on top of the wolf and drove his chainsword into the base of its neck. The sword stuck in the animal's steel muscles. It shook itself and sent the Marine flying.

Kalinovi hacked at the first wolf's legs, chainsword raging. Lenikov dodged its snapping jaws and punched it in the eye. It shook its head and stepped back, swiping at the sergeant with its foremost claws. He gasped in pain as the claws ripped through him and tossed him aside. He landed hard, blood staining the snow. Blinking away the darkness in his vision, he struggled to his knees. He spat blood out of his mouth and stood.

Mendelev, still on the ground, repeatedly bashed his opponent's head with a rock he'd found beside him. His other arm struggled to hold back the jaws. His armour was covered in deep gashes and blood, more his own than the wolf's. The animal howled in pain as the rock smashed into its muzzle again, breaking the bones. Rovsky ripped his chainsword out of the canine's back and stood in shock as the blade broke. Half of it remained embedded in its neck. Kalinovi pulled out a bolt pistol – the only firearm allowed in a hunt – and fired at the wolf, charging at it. The rounds exploded in its side, driving it to the ground. Mendelev screamed as its jaws snapped shut on the arm holding the stone, shearing through it at the elbow. A lucky shot fired by Kalinovi went through its eye and finally put it down.

Lenikov, in the meantime, danced with his own opponent. The Marine and Wolf were nothing but blurs of motion. A claw caught him in the chest, raking through him. Stumbling, Lenikov slammed a second combat knife into the leg, eliciting a howl of rage from the animal before him. He spun around its second blow and fired a dozen rounds from his pistol. The concentrated explosive fire blew off a leg and sent the beast crashing to the ground. Before he could capitalize, it picked itself up again and lunged at him, bearing him to the ground. He pressed the barrel of the pistol against its neck and emptied the clip. The shells tore through the coiled muscles and the wolf fell to the side. Lenikov quickly fired another shot through the eye.

Mendelev's grunt of pain caused him to glance around. Their battlefield was a mess. Snow was tossed everywhere, as were bits of armour and metal. Blood stained the ground. Lenikov knelt over the animal he'd killed and bowed his head in prayer. He apologized to the wolf for ending its life, and hesitated before thanking the Emperor for allowing him to live through the encounter. He thanked the wolf for fighting well, and promised to remember it. He begged its forgiveness. After a quiet pause – out of respect for the fallen – he turned and did the same for the second animal. Then he stood and gathered up his weapons.

'Mendelev, on your feet. Kalinovi, Rovsky, gather your weapons.' Lenikov turned and signaled for pick-up. He and Kalinovi stood by one of the fallen animals, waiting for their Thunderhawk. He saw Mendelev grit his teeth in pain and stand by the other wolf. Blood ran down his armour and flowed from the severed arm. The alarming rate of the bleeding had slowed, but not by much. The Marine looked faint. 'Mendelev, talk to me. How are you holding up?'

The Marine shook his head. 'I'm a little weak sergeant, but I'll live.'

Lenikov nodded and glanced at the sky as a roar echoed throughout the mountains. A Thunderhawk Gunship arched over the nearest peak, screaming towards the battered Arctic Wolves. It banked and threw itself into a momentary stall, its nose rising towards the sky, before gently lowering to the ground. The ramp fell open and an apothecary charged out. Assessing the weary hunters before him, he moved to Mendelev's side.

'Can you hear me, brother?' The apothecary guided the Marine into the gunship, examining the torn arm. Mendelev leaned his weight against him, his own legs growing weaker.

'What?' Mendelev mumbled, his voice low and thick. 'Oh, yes I hear you.'

'Of course you do.'

Lenikov turned away from the two Marines and motioned for Kalinovi to help move the wolf's body into the gunship. Rovsky came to help as well, and the three Marines grunted as they half-dragged, half-carried the wolf's body on board. They returned and did the same for the second beast. Just as they managed to pull it inside, a second gunship appeared in they sky. It flew towards them with amazing speed and swung around, presenting its open passenger compartment to the battlefield.

Lenikov scowled as the gunship touched down. He'd hoped to avoid contact with his captain for a time. His eyes widened slightly as Voychev stepped off the Thunderhawk. A woman followed the two Marines onto the snow. The sergeant narrowed his eyes; she looked familiar. Voychev marched towards him while Riktovi and the woman gazed in awe at the blood and bits of torn flesh and armour around them.

'Sergeant Lenikov, I congratulate you on a successful hunt. Were there any losses?'

Lenikov gestured towards Mendelev. 'Only an arm. We got lucky.'

'Aye, the Emperor was watching that's for sure. Those were-'

'The Emperor is never watching.' Lenikov glanced at the woman and stepped back in surprise. His face became a mask of rage. The last time he'd seen this woman had been on Arein. At the time, she'd been leading a search for a traitor that had later instigated the invasion of Preaore. She had failed to stop him before that event, just as Lenikov had failed to kill him after it. His anger towards her was less than his anger towards himself, but only just. He turned to leave.

'Lenikov! What was that about the Emperor?' Voychev spun the sergeant around. 'You of all people should know better.'

'Release me, commander.'

'Get it through your head, sergeant. The Emperor is not at fault for your suffering. The Emperor did not order a Kaos-damned psyker to shoot your honour brother. The Emperor-'

Lenikov turned to leave but Voychev stopped him cold with the steel fury in his voice.

'_Sergeant._ You have a right to voice your suffering and to go to others for help. You have a right to voice your opinion. _However,_ you do _not_ have the right to condemn the Emperor Himself, or to blame Him for the actions of a traitor. He does everything He can to keep us safe. But He cannot keep us all alive. If He requires our presence at His side, we do _not_ have the right to wield anger against him.'

Lenikov glared at the Chapter Master with an unbridled fury. 'Goodbye, commander.'

Voychev shouted after the sergeant as Lenikov stepped aboard his gunship. 'Sergeant! Firen is _dead!_ Get over it!'

The boarding ramp shut with a hiss. The roar of the Thunderhawk's engines drowned out all else and it lifted into the air. Swinging around to face towards Novgorod, it quickly accelerated and disappeared amongst the clouds. The sound of its passing echoed around the mountain peaks. The commander stared after it for a few moments, furious. Then he rounded on Riktovi.

'Captain, take that Thunderhawk and get back to Novgorod. Get Lenikov out of this mess, _now._'

Riktovi shook his head. 'And how would you propose that I do that?'

Voychev glared at him. 'I will not allow this to continue any longer. Introduce him to an old friend.'

'Commander, Brother Sorev said-'

'_I don't care what Sorev said._ Do it now. And take Inquisitor Vassilevski with you.' Voychev faced her. 'Forgive me, Inquisitor, but I need a few moments to myself. The mountains will help to clear my thoughts. I will see you back at the village later tonight.'

'Of course commander.'

Vassilevski watched in confusion as Voychev turned and stalked away, obviously still consumed by a deep anger. She followed Riktovi on board and strapped herself into one of the harnesses. As the Thunderhawk lifted, she turned her gaze towards her friend. 'How will he get back?'

Riktovi shrugged, his concerns elsewhere. 'He'll walk, I suppose.'

'Walk?' Vassilevski repeated. 'Okay. So what's this about?'

'You'll see.' Riktovi patched into the vox channel, speaking to the pilot. 'Brother, land outside the village. We need to retrieve Brother Sorev before continuing.'

'Aye captain.'

Vassilevski arched her eyebrow but Riktovi merely gave her a small smile. She scowled at him and his refusal to answer her questions. She decided to try something else. 'So, a banquet in my honour huh? A hunt too?'

'Yep.'

She waited a bit, expecting him to elaborate. When he didn't speak, she said, 'Want to tell me about it?'

'You'll see.' He grinned as she gave up on him, venting a sigh of exasperation. 'Have patience, Patrova! Just live life as it happens.'

'I prefer to have a plan.'

'I can see that.' Riktovi burst into laughter as she gave him a scathing look. She rolled her eyes and turned her gaze to the landscape speeding by below, the smallest of smiles touching her own lips. The rugged beauty of the ice and snow took her breath away. The clearness of the air, the purity of the horizon, the pristine, untouched nature of Angura was amazing to her. She'd spent most of her childhood amongst the dirty, towering confines of the hives. All she'd known throughout those years was the choking, nauseating pollution and the overcrowded streets and buildings of a hive city. The noise, the crime, the corruption all had served to thoroughly disgust her in a way nothing ever would. The openness and purity of Angura was a treasure to her. It was something she immediately fell in love with.

* * *

Brother Valur Sorev of the Hidden Librarius scowled. He was more tired than an Astartes should be. He sent a blast of power radiating outward to his front and watched as what was once a villager's hut was thrown onto a growing pile of debris. He paused to catch his breath, leaning on his farthenwood staff as he did so. He marveled at the weapon. Even over three centuries old, it had not the slightest blemish on its features. Truly the forest it came from was a great one. Frustrated with his weakness, he grit his teeth and shook his head, pushing past it. Age and wounds sustained in battle only set boundaries to be broken, nothing more. He lifted a wall and tossed it aside, revealing the broken body of a child, frozen and half-buried in the snow. He turned away. The effort to focus his abilities took more out of him than he cared to admit.

Sorev winced. The psychic death cry of the child still permeated the air around her body. It raked against the Marines mind until he forced it out of his consciousness. She would have made a powerful psyker, had she lived. She might have even been granted the honour of admittance into the ranks of the Librarius. Sorev frowned. His Order was one of secrecy, and that went against a good majority of the values he'd been taught to uphold. Of course, he was one of the few known psykers. He'd been through too many times of trial with the people of Angura for them not to know he was a Librarian.

The Order of the Hidden Librarius was an organization consisting of the most powerful psykers on Angura. Initiates were admitted at a young age after months of thorough screening and testing. Only the strongest of will passed the tests. Trained at an outpost deep in the Nikols Filruk Mountains, members of the Order were usually never seen again by friends or family. Training lasted approximately two years, depending on the skill of the Adept. Most Adepts did not survive the rigorous exercises that stressed their minds. The failures collapsed into insanity as their once brilliant minds failed. In the end, the only thing left to do was to lay them to rest, the better to end their torment. The Adepts who failed the tests but managed to remain alive were returned to their families. They were given a tutor to help hone and control their abilities, but were otherwise left alone.

Those Adepts to pass the final examination were granted admittance as Warriors of the Order. They were then expected to use their abilities for the defense of the citizens of the Anguran Subsector, and to ultimately give their lives to bring down the forces of Kaos. The life of an Order member was hard, lonely, and thankless. A member must remain hidden amongst the populace, hiding themselves and their considerable abilities in plain sight. Even the Marines do not know the identities of the Order Members in their midst. Brother Loranev was a perfect example. Even after serving with Lenikov for more than two centuries, the sergeant never knew he was a Librarian. When times of crisis arise, Order members are expected to act swiftly and without direction. They are given free reign to defend the helpless people around them in any way they see fit, so long as they do not endanger the lives of those they are meant to protect.

Warriors who survive long enough – like Loranev – are granted the title of Knight of the Hidden Librarius. Knights had a second objective in addition to their primary goal: to guide the Adepts and Warriors below them and to help them learn. They were teacher to keep the younger, more headstrong initiates in line and on the path dictated by the tenants of the Order. Many Knights are initially annoyed at this added burden, but all grow to love watching Adepts blossom into their full capabilities under the Knight's guidance. The older members of the Order live only for the joy of passing on their knowledge to the younger generations.

The Champions of the Order – of which there are two – are selected from the oldest and wisest Knights. These psykers are the leaders of the Order. One is always a Marine, the other a Guardsman. Only eleven people know the names and faces of the Champions: the commander and the company captains of the Arctic Wolves. If one Champion was lost, the survivor would pick the successor. If both were lost, that duty fell to the commander of the Wolves.

Most Champions are doomed to death the moment they are chosen. As the leaders of the Order, they are expected to command from the front, to fight in the most dangerous of battles. It is rare for a Champion to survive more than ten years, if they are a Marine, or three years if they are a Guardsman. They suffer the most painful, most violent deaths imaginable at the hands of Kaos. Because of this, they embody the very meaning of courage and sacrifice. They were held as the ultimate example of what it meant to be a true servant of the Emperor.

Sorev frowned. He couldn't even begin to contemplate what cruel joke the God-Emperor played to make him the "ultimate example" for others to follow. He didn't deserve such an honour. He certainly didn't want the responsibility of leading a secret order of warriors in defense of the Anguran Subsector. But then, it wasn't as if he had a choice. Sergeant Vikter Styov, the previous Guard Champion, had chosen him. Less than four days later, Sorev was forced to select the next Guard Champion.

His line of thought was interrupted as a Thunderhawk Gunship roared overhead. It spun about and angled towards him. The old Librarian felt an overwhelming sense of unease as the gunship settled onto the snow. Its ramp fell open and a Marin and woman stepped into the bright Anguran sunlight. Sorev's eyes briefly flickered to the woman's face before he acknowledged the approaching Marine. He bowed stiffly, clutching his staff for support. He could have sworn he heard his bones creak with the movement.

'Captain Riktovi,' he said, greeting the Marine.

'Brother Sorev, I'd like to introduce you to Inquisitor Vassilevski. She is a guest on our world.'

Sorev stepped forward and clasped the Inquisitor's hands. 'My Lady, I am honoured.' He faced Riktovi. 'How may I be of service, captain?'

'I'm afraid I have some bad news.'

'Let me guess, another storm is about to kill us all?' Sorev asked sarcastically. Riktovi shook his head. 'Then it's not all that bad.'

'Sorev, our commander has ordered that Lenikov be reunited with his former squad mate.'

Sorev froze. 'No. Nothing good will come of it.'

'We cannot disobey.'

'Aye, that is true. But this – this is something that just should not be done. I warned him against it.'

'He is our commander.'

'He is a fool!'

Riktovi flinched. 'Say that to his face. Like it or not, we must follow his decision. Besides, he has yet to lead us wrong.'

Sorev glared at the captain for a moment before giving in. 'This is not a good idea, but you are right. Will the good Inquisitor be accompanying us?'

'Yes. She is trustworthy.'

Sorev turned his gaze towards her. 'Hear that, my Lady? He says you're trustworthy. The boy thinks highly of you.

Vassilevski smiled. She couldn't have imagined anyone calling Riktovi "boy". 'Show me a trustworthy Inquisitor, brother, and I'll _walk_ back to Terra.'

Sorev gave a sharp bark of laughter. He appraised the Inquisitor once more. 'A sense of humor? In an Inquisitor? You are special indeed. At the very least, you have a good head on you.' He shook his head and led the others to the gunship. He could not help but feel supremely uneasy. They were quite possibly about to condemn Sergeant Lenikov to a living hell.

* * *

Riktovi watched, from what he considered a fairly safe distance, as Sorev spoke calmly but urgently to Lenikov. Both Marines seemed on the verge of shouting. The captain wouldn't have been surprised if they came to blows. Sorev was attempting – rather unsuccessfully – to change Lenikov's opinion about the Emperor. The Librarian believed that, if he succeeded, he would have no need to follow Voychev's order.

Riktovi turned away from the arguing Marines, instead facing Vassilevski. She practically glowed in the light of the sunset, her brown hair granting her an angelic quality. He couldn't help but notice how, even now, she seemed to be rather nervous. Her eyes flickered rapidly between the two Marines. Riktovi shook his head. He glanced over towards the two other Marines for a moment, judging the distance. They were well outside of hearing range. Even if they weren't, the other two likely would not have heard the captain over their own arguing.

'So, Patrova,' he began. 'This is likely as private as it's going to get for a while. Care to tell me what dire news brought you here?'

She stared at him, seeming to weigh her options. After a few moments' hesitation, she came to her decision. She sighed, turning her gaze to the fiery sunset. 'Unfortunately, you are not wrong to call it dire. The Word Bearers have all but disappeared back into the Maelstrom. The Hunters are endeavoring for a crusade after them to finally wipe them from existence. You and I both know they will fail and very likely all die. I told you that much.'

Riktovi nodded. 'Aye.'

'Nikolai, another Legion is on the move. The Black Legion, and if our reports are correct, they are in full strength.'

The captain let out a low whistle. 'The entire Legion? Holy Terra… one hundred thousand traitor Marines…'

'Yes, and you know the danger that alone poses for the Imperium. But I'm not done yet. An entire Astartes Chapter has disappeared. Also, your deployed regiment, the Anguran Mechanized, has been destroyed.'

Riktovi shook his head. 'Sorev's not going to like that. Which Chapter was it? And where were the Eighth killed?'

'Your regiment was caught in the failed evacuation of the planet Crevatia. Not one Imperial made it off the world alive. This was at the hand of the Black Legion. As for the Chapter, it is one we have both worked with before, if only briefly. I tried to contact the Archangels to inform them of Ekthalon's death. I was unable to find any means of doing so. My queries have gone unanswered. I assume the worst.'

Riktovi froze, shock plain on his face. His breath caught and he could barely speak. 'So we lost contact with them. That could mean anything. For Terra's sake, you may yet be wrong.'

'I wish I were.'

Riktovi ran his hand over his face, struggling to quell his rising fury and anxiety. 'Holy Emperor… We have to tell Commander Voychev.'

'Tell him what? A rumor and theory? Nikolai, for this information to be of any use, we need it to be confirmed. Until then, we cannot-' She broke off as Sorev approached. He seemed immensely disappointed and more than a little angry. Lenikov followed a few steps behind, looking for all the world as though he wanted to kill the older Marine.

'He's all yours, captain. Blasted fool won't listen to reason. For all our sakes, I wish you the best of luck. Walk within the Emperor's light, captain. Farewell.' He nodded once to the Inquisitor and marched off, muttering to himself about the stupidity of Commander Voychev and Sergeant Lenikov.

Inquisitor Vassilevski arched an eyebrow and Riktovi shrugged in return. He faced the sergeant. 'Kyr Lenikov, there is someone I'd like you to meet. I regret not having been able to introduce you before now. Please forgive me.' The captain turned and signaled to someone in the Thunderhawk behind him.

For a moment, there was silence. Then ancient machinery brought itself to life, and with a long, mechanical groan, it raised itself to its full height. The Dreadnought stomped down the ramp and onto the snow, towering above the Marines and Inquisitor. Its white armour shined in the moonlight, its sensor arrays glowed a deep red. A voice rasped from its speaker. 'Ah, Sergeant Lenikov. It is good to see you once more. I am sorry for failing you before.'

Lenikov gaped. His knees shook and his voice caught. Even changed as it was, he still recognized the mechanical voice of the other. Tears leapt to his eyes. The Dreadnought stepped before him.

I doubt you recognize me, sergeant. I am truly, deeply sorry for what happened. I should have been more careful. But then you saved me, Lenikov. I am-'

Lenikov found his voice. He whispered quietly, as though he were afraid this was only a dream. 'Ventrek?'

The machine paused. 'Aye, sergeant. I am Dreadnought Ventrek, formerly Brother Soralur Ventrek of the Arctic Wolves Third Company. 'I thank you for saving my life on Preaore.'


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Stars glistened above, reflecting gently off the armour of the gathered Marines and the cloaks of the Anguran citizens. Small fires illuminated the campsite, sending shadows dancing across the snow. Children laughed, racing through the darkness. Groups of friends surrounded each blaze, talking animatedly about the visitor to their world. Marines and Guardsmen practiced combat techniques or discussed various assault strategies. What was perhaps the most astonishing sight to Vassilevski, was the two Marines entertaining a group of young children. Captain Riktovi and Brother Mendelev were performing an impromptu play to the joyous laughter of the youngsters.

The friendly wolf, Ruska, led on by Commander Voychev, allowed children to climb atop her. Once they were seated securely in front of the Marine, the wolf rose and sped around the encampment, eliciting screams of joy from the children. Brother Sorev manipulated the shadows into various moving pictures and stories, to the applause of another group of civilians. Chaplain Igarka spoke of ages long past, telling ancient legends of the beginning of the Imperium. Vassilevski could not help but gaze in awe at the unique relationship between the civilians and military forces of Angura, especially for the Astartes. She'd never seen the like before.

Pulling her newly acquired heavy cloak tighter about her, she moved between the fires. She nodded greetings to the few men and women that noticed her presence. She melded with the shadows, content to merely observe the people around her. This was a special moment, indeed a special planet. Its like was all too rare in life. It only served to increase her determination to do all she could to protect these people. They deserved the best. She turned as someone approached. Voychev had caught sight of her. He bowed.

'My Lady Inquisitor. I trust you enjoyed the meal?'

'Yes commander, thank you. These people,' she gestured at the civilians. 'I am amazed by their love for you. I've never seen this kind of relationship between a Chapter and the civilians it protects before.'

Voychev nodded, his face betraying a hint of sadness and regret. 'Aye. We are undeserving of such loyalty, but they give it regardless. We are blessed to guard such kind people. But that is a discussion for another time.'

'Is there something on your mind, commander?'

The Marine frowned. 'Unfortunately, yes. I apologize, Inquisitor, but I am going to be blunt. Why are you here? You are the first Inquisitor to set foot on this world in over three thousand years.'

'I also apologize, commander, for I am not at liberty to discuss that with you. What I have to speak of is for Captain Riktovi alone.'

'Understandable. However, if it concerns the security of my Marines and these people, I trust you will tell me, yes? Will you do that for me, Inquisitor?'

Vassilevski hesitated before answering. 'Yes commander, I will. I will not needlessly endanger your people.'

Voychev's eyes met her own. 'And if you believed you had to endanger them?'

Vassilevski spoke with no hint of regret. 'Then I would do so without hesitation. No matter how much this, or any other planet means to us, the security of the Imperium as a whole is of a much greater importance.' Unable to bear seeing the pain in his eyes, pain she'd caused, the Inquisitor turned and walked away.

'And that is where we differ,' Voychev mumbled, his quiet voice full of disappointment.

* * *

Riktovi drew Sorev aside. He spoke in hushed, relieved tones. 'It went better than I expected,' he said, referring to the incident with Lenikov and the Dreadnought. 'They both still live, at least.'

Sorev shrugged. 'It is not the immediate consequences I was worried about, captain.'

'What do you mean?'

Sorev let out an exasperated sigh. 'Emperor preserve me, I am surrounded by blind fools! Think, captain, _think!_ Lenikov was on the verge of recovery. He was beginning, admittedly very slowly, to accept his squad. Now he's just been rather forcibly reminded of his mistakes on the desert planet. Have you forgotten how he blamed himself the majority of the deaths there? That includes what he thought was the death of one Brother Soralur Ventrek. Now he realizes he didn't cause the death of his battle brother-'

'Isn't that a good thing?'

'Instead he realizes he's only confined Ventrek to a metal sarcophagus for the rest of eternity.'

Riktovi blinked. He hadn't thought of that. 'Oh.'

Sorev laughed angrily. 'An understatement for sure. Goodbye, captain.' The aged Marine stalked into the darkness, leaving Riktovi staring after him. The captain of the Wolves turned as his name was called.

'Nikolai!'

'May I be of assistance, Patrova?'

She smirked. 'Why so formal? I'd like to retire for the night. Would you please show me to the quarters you said you had for me?'

'Of course.' The Marine stepped away from the firelight and into the darkness. Vassilevski followed a step behind. The sounds of laughter and happiness faded into the darkness behind them. Gentle winds caressed their faces, sending flakes of snow swirling around them. The ruins of the town loomed out of the shadows.

'Where are the civilians going to stay until their homes are rebuilt? They can't sleep in the snow, they'd freeze.'

Riktovi pointed toward the ground. 'There is a complex below the surface. It has a heating system and can hold several thousand people. And if you think this is cold, you should come back during the winter.' He grinned.

'This - this isn't winter?'

The captain laughed and shook his head. 'Patrova, this is an Anguran summer! And a good one at that. Only Marines travel the surface during the winter season. Anyone else would freeze to death very, very quickly. I'll not go into detail.'

'So, do they all stay in the underground complex? Is it that big?'

'No not that there are many Anguran citizens. At most, there are twenty-five thousand civilians on this world, with another four or five thousand Guardsmen. The Rusyan Shelter can only hold the population of Novgorod: five thousand. Everyone else stays in a group of otherwise unused military outposts in the mountains.'

'Wouldn't it be colder in the mountains?'

'Well, yes. That's why the outposts are there. If the planet is attacked, the civilians will already be inside hard-to-reach defensive positions. On top of that, the natural cold will help defend the civilians while they are clustered together.'

Vassilevski shrugged. She supposed it made sense in an odd sort of way. Riktovi stopped and motioned towards a small building. He held open the door and ushered her inside. He smiled. A bed rested against one wall, with a small desk and network console next to it. The floor was bare wood, as were the walls. They were both bereft of any coverings or ornamentation.

'Not much, I know, but it's home. Feel free to use the desk or console anytime you need it.' He grabbed a stack of papers off the desk. He paused. 'May I ask a question?'

'Of course.'

'If the information you gave me is unconfirmed, and my commander cannot know it, why did you come? Why not confirm it first?'

She hesitated, unsure how to respond. 'Even as a rumor, it concerns you. I felt you had a right to know.'

And Voychev doesn't? It concerns him far more than it does me. What are you not telling me?'

'Nikolai-'

'Patrova, this kind of rumor, as you call it, concerns the security of Angura as well as the Imperium at large. By rights, Voychev should already know. If you honestly expect me to keep him in the dark, I need to know why. So, what are you not telling me?'

Vassilevski sat on the hard bed, rubbing her eyes. The captain was right. He did deserve to know why. She supposed she'd tell him as soon as she knew the answer herself. 'In truth, I don't know why. I just, I don't know, have this _feeling_. I don't want people knowing what I think I know. I feel as if it would bring even more danger and suffering on you.'

'Well, what do you think you know?' He said it as though she could say anything, as though any pain or suffering brought on by the knowledge would be nothing they could not bear. She sighed.

'You remember I told you Crevatia was lost?'

'Aye.'

'So was Arein, along with the planets Korinth, Fulcro, Stabierst, and Kavath. That's not to mention the entire Vire, Elikt, and Korite systems. They're not captured, they're destroyed.'

Riktovi whistled. 'You know, sometimes I wonder if we're losing this war. I wonder if Humanity will survive. My answers are always the same: yes to the first, no to the second. Humanity is going to die, but the Astartes will die first. We will lay down our lives to prolong yours. It's that simple, right?' He shrugged. 'If you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Have a good night, Patrova.'

'Nikolai–' It was too late, he'd already left. Vassilevski stared at the door a moment before settling onto the bunk. It was much too big for her, having been built for a Marine. She moved to the chair and leaned back. Her thoughts roamed from the Black Legion, to the Hunters, to Riktovi. Guilt rose in her. She still hadn't told him everything, and she suspected he knew that. She still wasn't accustomed to having someone she could trust, and that was beginning to hurt the few people she cared about.

* * *

Riktovi glanced around him as he entered the command building. All the captains of the Wolves and Brother Sorev were gathered together. They glanced at him briefly, confusion plain on their faces. Evidently none of them knew the purpose of the summons. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from a small holopad in the center. At present, it was only showing a view of Angura, rotating serenely about its axis. Fourteen ships were in orbit, thirteen of which belonged to the Arctic Wolves. The final cruiser bore the Inquisitorial Insignia. The Astartes ships stayed clear of the Inquisitorial Battlecruiser, ever cautious.

All eyes turned to the entrance as their commander stepped into the room. Voychev gazed at the hologram for a moment, smirking. He stepped forward and tapped in a new command. The view switched to a map of the Imperium. Voychev gestured at it. 'Everyone here knows how vast the Imperium of Mankind really is. Everyone here is equally aware of how hard it is to keep an empire of this size safe.' He tapped a button and the map changed. Stars and systems blinked out of existence, planets now glowed red. 'You know war is hard. You know it is unceasing.' He pointed to one of the red planets. This is Crevatia. It fell to Kaos not three weeks ago. No one made it off alive.'

Sorev stepped forward. 'Were there any transmissions from Major Valora before it fell?'

Voychev shook his head. 'No, brother, there were not. You will need to select a new Champion.' Sorev grimaced. The commander continued. 'We do not currently have enough Guardsmen to rebuild the regiment. In fact, we were never able to rebuild the Infantry regiment. However, that is irrelevant. Along with Crevatia, I have received word of attacks on Korinth, Fulcro, and Kavath. These worlds hold shrines to the Angel, as you well know. They were completely destroyed.' Voychev paused, updating the map. More stars blinked out of existence. He tapped another command and the Anguran Subsector replaced the previous view. 'All of these assaults were at the hands of one Legion.'

Voychev highlighted a planet on the map. 'On a final note, I regret to inform you that even worse has happened. The fourth planet in this system, beloved Taymyr, has been destroyed.'

The assembled Marines reeled in shock. Over twelve billion people had lived and thrived there. The mere fact of its destruction meant the system was in danger. The planet labeled Taymyr faded from the map. Two of the remaining three flashed red. Voychev continued.

'Severnaya and Valdai are currently under attack. They will not last long. Captains Rilkov, Davik, and Ingvey, you will take your companies to Severnaya. Kruschev, Vitri, and Kelnov, take your companies to Valdai. Do what you can, but don't throw your lives away. If it is possible, stop the invasion. If it is not, save as many civilians as you can and pull back to Angura. You six are dismissed.' The captains saluted and filed out. Voychev turned to the remainder. 'Riktovi, take your company to the Nikols outpost. Whatever happens, do _not_ allow the enemy to get inside the complex. Dzhugashvili, you and your First Company will guard the Rusyan Shelter. If it looks as though it's going to fall, blow it. Our gene-seed cannot be contaminated. Ordnatev, spread your company between Nikolskoe and Oskerval. Captain Vynov, patrol the Moskva Fields. Wherever they try to land, I want you there.'

Vynov nodded his acknowledgement. 'Aye commander.' He left.

Ordnatev shook hands with Riktovi. 'Good luck, brother.' He bowed to the commander and left to marshal his company.

Voychev faced Riktovi. 'Captain, you do not want to know what will happen if the enemy breaches your defenses. Let's not find out.'

'Yes commander.'

'Take that blasted Inquisitor with you. However, under no circumstances will you allow her access below the civilian levels. I don't care how trustworthy you think she is, you are to keep her above the secure sections. Do you understand me?'

'Commander–'

'Do you understand me, captain?' Voychev's gaze burned into Riktovi. The captain lowered his eyes.

'Yes commander.'

'Good. And make sure she lives through this. She and I will need to have a rather lengthy talk afterwards. Dismissed.'

Riktovi bowed and left. His anger radiated from him in strong waves. Voychev faced the only remaining captain. He placed a hand on Dzhugashvili's shoulder. A slight smile touched the Chapter Master's otherwise cold features. 'Good luck, old friend. May the Emperor watch over your eternal soul.'

'And yours, commander. Stay safe.'

* * *

Sorev gazed deep into the Guardsman's eyes. He scowled, sensing the man's unease. The soldier cleared his throat and spoke. 'You sent for me, Champion?'

'Sergeant Major Vilan Coretsk, Knight of the Hidden Librarius, I have a request to make of you.'

'Name it, my Lord.'

'I regret to inform you of the death of Major Valora, Champion of our Order. She fell on Crevatia, holding true to her duties as a commander. We will honour her life as we honour all fallen heroes of the Imperium. However, there is another honour that must be served. It is time for a new Champion to rise from the ranks of the Guard. Knight Coretsk, I am asking you to be ready and willing to sacrifice your body, your mind, and yes, your very soul if need be, for the good of the people of Angura. I am asking you to stand prepared to uphold all that it means to be an Imperial. Will you do this for me?'

The soldier hesitated. He found he had trouble speaking. 'Champion-'

'Will you do this for me?' Sorev repeated. His eyes ensnared Coretsk's.

After a long pause, Coretsk found the strength to answer. 'If it is your will, Champion.'

'Kneel.' Sorev placed a hand on the young soldier's shoulder and withdrew a thin slip of paper. As he spoke, words began to appear on the parchment. 'Knight Coretsk, do you swear, by your life, honour, and your soul to uphold the tenets of the Order as laid down by our founder, Champion Diktos?'

'I so swear on my life, honour, and soul.'

'Do you swear to defend the people of Angura, Severnaya, Valdai, and Taymyr until your life fades from existence?'

'I swear to protect the people of the Anguran System while I draw breath.'

'Vilan Coretsk, do you pledge to lay down your eternal soul, to doom yourself to a never-ending torment at the hands of the Kaos Gods to spare others that same fate?'

'I do pledge.'

As the two spoke, a faint mist enveloped them. Their eyes glowed, energy danced about their hands. Sorev murmured a small prayer to the Emperor. 'Champion Coretsk, the will of the Order is your will. Its life is your life. Its death is in your hands. Do not fail in your oaths. The power of the Emperor binds you to these words. Rise.'

The soldier obeyed, a look of amazement and disbelief clear on his face. The energy faded. Sorev handed him the oath. 'Take this. It is a physical reminder of the pledge you have taken here today. Keep it at your side. You may return to your duties, Champion of the Librarius.'

* * *

The Strike Cruiser _Cheyord_, under the command of Captain Davorr Vitri, tore out of the warp above Valdai. It immediately came under fire from the massive Kaos fleet. Seven drop pods managed to launch from the ship's underside before the shields were overwhelmed. Thousands of missiles punched through the Cruiser. It exploded, having maintained orbit for barely four minutes. Debris smashed into the rear pod, shattering it. Kaos fighters destroyed another two pods before they disappeared into the atmosphere.

The four remaining Drop Pods landed hard, steam rolling off their hulls. Their ramps exploded outward and the Marines charged forth. Only twenty made it to the planet's surface. Captain Vitri ran for the dubious cover of a nearby forest as gunships zeroed in on the landing site. Dirt kicked up around the Marines as the fighters opened fire. An explosion caught four Arctic Wolves in its fiery rage. Another Wolf stumbled and fell, blood pouring from a dozen different wounds. A sergeant was thrown to the ground, his torso blown away. Nine Marines made it into cover.

In orbit, on the other side of the planet, the debris from two Arctic Wolf Strike Cruisers fell through the atmosphere. Captains Rikter Kelnov and Varrun Kruschev were killed barely a minute after exiting the warp. Not a single Marine made it off either ship alive. The servants of the Kaos Gods reveled in every kill. Bombardment shells rained onto the planet, flattening cities and setting almost every forest ablaze. Hundreds of dropships followed in the bombardment's wake.

Captain Vitri powered through a burning tree and fired his bolter with a calm precision. His shell caught a vanguard Kaos Marine in the chest, blowing through it. His band - now seven strong - moved fast, barely stopping. The rearguard Marine turned and suppressed the area behind him with a long burst of automatic fire. A sniper round blew through his skull, blasting out the back of his helmet. Even then it still had enough power to embed itself deep in Vitri's back. He roared in pain.

'Move! Kill as many as you can! Sell your lives dearly, Wolves of Angura!' The captain threw himself flat, narrowly avoiding the next cursed bolt round. His back burned from the touch of the earlier shell. The pain was immense, very nearly unbearable. He struggled to his knees and fired two rounds, catching a Kaos Marine in the throat and chest.

An Arctic Wolf dueled with two Champions of Khorne. Even so vastly outmatched, the Marine managed to slay one. He then screamed as pain on a level he'd never imagined enveloped him. The remaining heretic twisted its blade in the Wolf's side, deepening the wound. It yanked the sword free and cleaved the Marine in two. Another loyalist exchanged bursts of fire with a squad of traitors, his back against a boulder. Rounds blew chunks out of the rock as the heretics found their mark.

Two Arctic Wolves fought side by side, covering each other's blind spots. They moved as one, utilizing a connection only they knew. Brothers by blood as well as battle, they slowly built a ring of bodies around them. Their blades reflected the raging fires, scything through heretics with amazing speed. A shadow passed over them before a giant winged daemon landed among them. The Bloodthirster roared and crushed one of the Marines beneath its cloven feet. It descended on the brother and tore him apart, sending bits of armour and torn flesh flying through the burning forest.

The final Marine under Vitri's command stood over his captain. Energy danced around him, ripping through the forest and traitor Marines. In the end, he fought with a sorcerer whose power was stronger than his own. He fell, his mind crushed. Captain Vitri himself died impaled upon the blades of six different traitors to the Imperium.

* * *

Severnaya burned. Its mountains lay shattered; its cities were in ruins. Firestorms rising miles into the sky raged across the planet. Skeletons fused with the rockcrete and intense heat reflected off the scorched buildings. Kaos Marines herded civilians into butcher zones for the enjoyment of daemons. Screams echoed on the volcanic air, barely drowning out the laughter of the heretics. Bodies were slowly ripped apart, drawing out the victim's agony. Near the northernmost mountain range, a small group of Guardsmen ran. Ahead of them was an even smaller group of civilians. Cannons from the mountain fortress opened up, providing the fleeing groups with devastating cover fire. Thousands of traitor Marines and daemons marched forward, ignoring the deadly rain of explosive shells.

Three ships warped into orbit in a tight formation. Two strike cruisers, accompanied by a mighty battlebarge immediately launched their drop pods. One of the cruisers exploded, its shields failing after twelve pods were deployed. The barge shielded the remaining cruiser, maneuvering itself to take the shots meant for its sister. The strike cruiser warped away. Alone now, amongst the far more powerful Black Legion fleet, the _Volga_ dove into the enemy ships. It collided with a much smaller Kaos cruiser, obliterating it. Its shields failed and missiles and bombardment shells tore through the hull. The _Volga_ exploded, taking Captain Zakarias Ingvey with it.

Captain Rilkov and his brothers landed in the northern mountains. Captain Davik's pod touched down twelve meters away. The two Arctic Wolves marshaled their forces – a total of two hundred sixty Marines and two Dreadnoughts – and worked to establish a defensive perimeter. Four Thunderhawks landed behind the Marines, each deploying a single Predator Tank. Missiles lanced skyward as enemy gunships sped towards the landing site. The Arctic Wolves' own Thunderhawks moved to engage. One of the Marines' gunships exploded, debris smashing into the Wolves below.

Artillery shells screamed across the heavens, blasting apart the Marines. With a terrifying roar, an unending wave of heretics flowed over the nearby hills. A devastating fusillade of bolter fire tore into the loyalists. Rilkov and Davik led their Marines in the counterattack. The Predator Tanks opened fire, cutting through the horde. A Thunderhawk broke off from the aerial battle to launch missiles into the center of the traitorous army. It made a single pass over the heretics, firing all its lascannons, heavy bolters, and missiles. Banking around fro another strafing run, it blossomed into flame as a rocket struck it in the side. Psyker blasts tore through the Marines.

Captain Davik, at the front of the Astartes line, was the first to meet their foes in close combat. He was a veritable storm of fury, scything through the servants of Kaos. A power axe wielded by a laughing champion of Khorne stopped him cold. A Kaos Dreadnought ripped into the Marines, tossing them aside. Rilkov himself was driven behind the cover of a Predator with a furious volley of bolter fire. The tank was literally thrown aside as a warp-damned sorcerer brought his considerable powers into play. The captain shouted for his Marines to disperse, to break away from the enemy. The ground in front of him exploded, the blast tossing him aside. He landed hard, blood spraying the rock and dripping from his mouth.

The captain glanced around him. His Marines fought valiantly, but they were vastly outmatched and outnumbered. The heretics didn't stop coming. Loyalists and traitors alike littered the ground. His tanks and gunships burned, and smoke billowed into the sky. He felt hands grab him and drag him away from the encroaching daemon-worshippers. A voice faintly called his name. Blood sprayed over him as his protector was brought down. The air was thick with bolter shells and psyker powers. Marines fell by the dozens. Rilkov struggled to his feet only to catch a round in the chest. The bolt exploded, sending him back to the blood-drenched rock in waves of agony.

The captain gazed at his devastated force, his sight failing. Astartes covered nearly every inch of ground. Small pockets of loyalist resistance still held, but not for long. The insurmountable tide of Kaos washed over them just as it did all else. The nearby mountain fortress – manned by the only surviving Guardsmen and civilians on the planet – literally _shattered. _A smoky haze settled over the battlefield. Ash fell much like snow, obscuring everything beneath it. Immense pressure and pain built within the lone Marine's mind. The captain strove to resist the sorcerer, but failed. The warp-spawn tore any knowledge of value from the captain before crushing the life from him. The last thing to assail Rilkov's ears was the laughter of the sorcerer as Severnaya burned.

* * *

Captain Rilkov's strike cruiser, _The Arkad_, tore out of the warp above Angura. It moved into a defensive formation around the northern pole, joining half a dozen other cruisers and frigates. Thunderhawks and Imperial Navy Landers transferred troops and equipment from the fleet to the surface. A group of smaller craft left the fleet and moved towards Angura's small moon. A squadron of Fury Assault Craft launched after them, moving into an escort formation.

On the surface of the planet, defensive positions were readied. In the ruins of Novgorod, Captain Dzhugashvili's First Company moved the civilians to the Rusyan Shelter. The captain himself was deep inside the bunker already, talking with a single Terminator Marine. Dzhugashvili motioned towards a small console, recessed in shadow and covered in ancient dust. It had never been used. The captain told his Terminator not to activate the console unless it was absolutely necessary. The Marine nodded and, with that line of defense now secure, Dzhugashvili left.

At the Nikols Outpost, Riktovi herded the civilians into the underground levels. His Marines were already below, securing the lower floors and activating the outposts' defense systems. The compound's outer gates slammed shut, sealing off the installation from further access. Hundreds of automated guns pointed skyward. The outpost slowly brought itself to life, the underground levels bathing in light for the first time in years. Above ground however, all sources of illumination were dismantled in an attempt to hide the outpost. After another hour the last civilian entered the installation's primary building and the doors shut with a terrifying finality.

Captain Vissar Ordnatev and his company marched the entire civilian populations of Nikolskoe and Oskerval, a little over five thousand total. His company escorted the civilians to the mountains, heading towards another outpost complex. Despite their fear, the civilians did not panic. Ordnatev was proud of them. A single Dreadnought marched alongside the captain. The friends talked quietly. They reached the empty Drittskaya Installation just as trails of fire and smoke stretched across the sky. The Black Legion had arrived.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Riktovi winced as the vox screeched with static. He shook his head. 'Blast this interference. Can you not find a way around it?'

Tech-Marine Zukev shrugged. 'I am trying, Captain Riktovi. If you think you can do better, you're welcome to try.'

The captain glanced at the ceiling as the distant automated turrets activated once more. The ground reverberated with their constant firing. He ignored the Tech-Marine and left the room. Civilians filled the hall, moving urgently from one security zone to the next, always searching for food or – more importantly – warmth. The chill of the mountains above seeped through the rock and steel and permeated the air on every level of the outpost. The heating units were unable to completely cope with the demands placed upon them. Riktovi stepped carefully over a slumbering civilian and called a Guardsman and brother Marine over to him. Facing the Guardsman, he pointed to the bodies on the floor.

'What are they doing there? Get them moved back to the civilian quarters. We can't defend the halls if they're filled with sleeping noncombatants can we?

The soldier shook his head. 'Sorry sir.' He moved to wake the civilians, rubbing their arms and backs in an effort to warm them up a little.

'Brother-Sergeant Roskev, what's the latest report?'

The sergeant held up a hand, forestalling him. He tilted his head, listening to the squad-level vox chatter. It was the only channel that still worked. After a moment he nodded and removed his helmet, facing the captain. 'Sorry Riktovi, I just got and update. Surface Turrets D-Four through G-7 are out of ammunition. All turrets in Sector Nine are no longer operational. If the heretics haven't made landfall above us yet, they will soon.'

Riktovi swore. 'Alert the company. Move to Level One and prepare for their assault. I will be with you in a moment.'

Roskev hesitated. 'What do you want me to do with Lenikov?'

'Leave him be. I'll deal with that later.'

The sergeant nodded. 'Yes captain. Good luck to you.'

Riktovi smirked. 'And you, brother.'

Roskev nodded once more and left, presumably to prepare for the incoming heretics. Riktovi sighed and marched in the other direction. He sidestepped a group of blanket-carrying Guardsmen, nodding a greeting to their sergeant. He glanced at a young child as he passed and shook his head. There'd already been one death because of the cold. Soon more civilians would freeze if the support-heating units could not be brought online.

He turned and stepped onto a metal stairway, his boots clattering against the cold steel. The captain ran his hand along the frost-covered railing as he descended. Two levels down, he stepped into a less crowded and far colder set of passageways. Ice covered every surface. He nodded to a passing squad of Astartes. A moment later and he was in the outpost's secondary command room. With the commanding Guardsmen and base technicians in the primary control center, the room currently only had one occupant.

Inquisitor Vassilevski stood at the holographic command projector, gazing at a floating image of Angura. Small triangles in orbit represented the battling fleets. Flashing icons on the planet itself represented the contested villages. As Riktovi watched, Oskerval – the planetary capital – faded from view. Vassilevski shook her head slowly, pulled her cloak tighter about her and turned to face him. She smiled sadly in the cold light, rubbing her arms in an attempt to keep warm. 'Nikolai, what brings you here?'

'The traitor Marines will soon make landfall and assault the facility directly, Patrova,' Riktovi said. 'I would like to escort you to a more secure location.'

She stared at him. 'So I can do what? Sit and wait, praying not to die? I am not a civilian noncombatant, Nikolai.'

'I did not mean to say you were.'

'I will fight just as much as you will. I will not step aside and let good people die while heretical filth tears the Imperium apart.'

'With respect Patrova, good people will die anyway. They have already died, and those still alive are prepared to die. You would be killed very quickly, I assure you. You are not used to this cold and must therefore wear that heavy cloak and jacket. That limits your mobility. And the enemy is not some warm-damned fool worshipping the Gods of Kaos, it is a Legion of Marines. Even as an Inquisitor, you-'

'I don't care what or who the enemy is! It could be the Arch-traitor himself and I would still step out to meet him. I will fight.'

'Patrova, I have been given an order by the commander to ensure your survival, and that is what I'll do. I would not be able to adequately do so in the middle of a fight. I-'

'I do not need protecting! I can handle myself, and you know that to be true.'

Riktovi broke off his response as static filled his vox. A voice broke through.

'_Captain Riktovi, the Black Legion has made landfall. We are engaging, but their force is overwhelming. We will not be able to hold them for long. I suggest you prepare the lower levels and secure a fallback position.'_

'Understood brother. I will be with you shortly. Don't throw your life away trying to buy time.' Riktovi faced the Inquisitor.

She started to speak. 'Let me-'

'For Terra's sake, Patrova! Please, stay out of the fight. Just… just go down to the reactor level. It'll be warmer there.' Without waiting for a response, he left the room. The captain readied his bolter rifle and ran up the stairs by threes. He rounded a corner and nearly collided with another Marine. He stepped back, surprise plain on his face. 'Sergeant Lenikov?'

The sergeant's haunted eyes pierced through Riktovi. His rifle was clutched tightly in his hands, ready to fire. His voice was quiet, yet loaded with a menace that chilled the captain to the core. 'Captain Riktovi, my actions of late have been unworthy of a marine. I have brought shame to myself as well as my Chapter. For this, I am truly sorry. If you would permit me, I would like the chance to redeem myself. I would like to stand beside you in the defense of this installation and this world.'

Riktovi was momentarily at a loss for words, still shocked by the cold fury in Lenikov's eyes. 'Brother Lenikov, I would gladly welcome your presence at my side.'

* * *

Debris rained onto his Marines as they brought down yet another Kaos Lander. Captain Vynov's brothers fought against traitors many times their number with a steel determination. This was their home world, and they would gladly give their last breath to defend it. They fought in silence, relying on their brothers to pull them through the flames of hell alive. The Marines' love for each other and their home fused them into a terrifying fighting force. They understood the odds of their survival. They also understood the consequences of their failure. Thousands of lives rested securely in their hands, and so each Arctic Wolf fought until they could fight no more. They would not give in to fear, despair, or the heretical whispers of the servants of Kaos.

Missiles arced out of the sky and blew chunks of ice dozens of meters into the air. Controlled bursts of return fire brought down countless Marines of the Warp, but there were always more. Blood stained the ice and snow for kilometers in every direction. Fires raged over the ruined hulks of dozens of Kaos landing craft. The Arctic Wolves were ever on the move. At the moment, their mobility was their greatest weapon. Each Marine knew they were going to die, but they would sell their lives as dearly as they could.

By now there were hundreds of Black Legion traitors on the ground. Even against such vastly superior numbers, the Arctic Wolves were a determined and effective force. Missiles and high-yield explosive rounds continued to lance skyward, exploding against countless landers. The volume of their fire was terrifying, unceasing, and ever increasing. Their blades flashed, catching the faint Anguran sunlight just before tainted Kaos blood sprayed into the air and stained the snow.

One of Vynov's few Land Speeders strafed the Kaos horde. A scant few seconds later it exploded. A Predator Tank opened fire, the high-velocity shell punching through a dropship's front armour. The landing craft exploded, taking twenty daemon-worshippers with it. The tank's engines roared as it sped forward and crushed a pair of Havoc Heavy Weapons traitor Marines beneath its treads. Vynov himself fought wherever the battle was thickest. His chainsword had long ago ceased to work, its motors clogged with gristle and bone. His pistol rounds blew through Kaos armour with laughable ease.

The captain ducked under a hasty axe swing and fired his last three rounds into the traitor's face. He dropped the pistol and spun, bringing his chainsword around at chest-level. His knee came up and connected with the breastplate of another Black Legion Marine. He stepped back and ran the heretic through with his blade. He glanced at a small tactical display in his helmet and noted the size of his force. Twenty out of the original one hundred Marines still fought. He parried a blow from a traitor to his side and gave the fall back order. A bolt round blew through his armour as the captain began his own fighting retreat. Vynov gasped in pain as blood spilled over the front side of his armour and splattered the snow-covered ice at his feet. His limbs refused to respond to his commands and the chainsword fell from his grasp. A grinning Kaos Marine stepped forward and brought a double-edged battle-axe around in a vicious arc, sunlight glinting off the leading edge.

* * *

Captain Dzhugashvili gazed deep into his brothers' eyes. He studied them all, passing judgment. He smiled grimly, pleased with what he saw. Though his voice was quiet, it carried throughout the staging area. 'Arctic Wolves, we face a hard decision, an even harder path. The Black Legion is invading our home, and they seem to be near full-strength. The commander's estimate places the enemy count at around seventy thousand, but that is just speculation.' He clasped his hands behind his back. Glancing at his commander, he continued. 'In reality, it doesn't matter how many troops they have. Fifty thousand, seventy thousand, one hundred thousand, it doesn't matter. We cannot stop them anyway. We are too few. One thousand Astartes cannot hope to stand against one hundred thousand of our dark brethren.'

The Arctic Wolves before him shifted uneasily. Despite knowing their captain spoke the truth, they did not like hearing his words. Dzhugashvili raised his hands to quell the muttering. 'Despite this terrible truth, we will fight. We will hold out as long as we can. We will fail, and die. The people we vowed to protect will die. Therefore, we will not remain in one location to make it easy for the servants of Kaos to hunt us down like animals. We will abandon this shelter and move to the mountains to engage in guerilla combat tactics. A small group will stay with the civilians and lead them to the Fornov Installation, just north of Captain Riktovi's position. A volunteer Terminator Squad will remain here. They will hold off the enemy as long as they can before collapsing this facility. We all know that even the best-laid plans can go disastrously wrong. I understand it may not be possible for one of the volunteers to break away from the battle and activate the explosives. Because of this, we will take an extra precaution with our gene-seed.

The captain hesitated. He remembered arguing against his commander's decided course of action mere moments ago. Now he was about to order it, and once uttered, words could not be taken back. He sighed, closing his eyes. His Marines were waiting. 'We are going to burn it ourselves. We cannot survive the coming conflict, and _will_ _not_ allow the gene-seed to fall into the traitor's hands.'

* * *

'Pull back! Get to the lower levels.' Riktovi spun and fired a three-round burst into an oncoming Kaos Marine. He sidestepped a chainblade and smashed his bolter rifle into the traitor's face. 'Roskev, secure Level Four. Move!' He snapped off another burst of fire before sprinting in the vague direction of the stairs. Bolter fire chased his bootsteps down the hall. A body powered into him, slamming him against the floor. A rune-covered knife flew overhead.

Sergeant Lenikov, still on the floor, angled his bolter down the hall and opened fire. A moment later his ammunition was spent. He rolled to the side and darted through an open doorway. 'Mendelev, go! Rovsky, cover him!'

Rovsky rolled out of cover and opened fire. In the confined space, every one of his shots found its mark. Mendelev charged down the hallway and grabbed Riktovi. He hauled the captain to his feet and none-to-gently pointed him towards the stairs. Rovsky's pinpoint cover fire held the traitors at bay for a few moments before he ran out of ammunition. He ducked back to reload and Lenikov stepped into view.

The Kaos Marines used the short pause in the suppression fire to their advantage. A furious volley of bolter fire tore chunks out of the walls and smashed into the retreating Arctic Wolves. Lenikov was thrown against the wall with the force of the impacting shells. He fell to the floor with much of his chest armour broken apart. His blood splashed against the wall and pooled around his prone and inert form. Riktovi roared in anger and made to turn back but Mendelev shoved him down the stairs.

The blast door slid shut with an echoing finality. Rovsky withdrew his chainsword and charged at the heretics. The remainder of Lenikov's squad followed suit, whispering brief prayers to the Emperor. Kalinovi fell, impaled on the daemonic blade of a Kaos Champion. The blade itself seemed to keen with a certain pleasure as it drank the Marine's blood. Valinov ducked under a traitor's swing and lashed out with his knife. The weapon snapped against the Kaos Marine's armour and the Arctic Wolf let it drop. He stepped inside the heretic's reach and pummeled it with his armoured hands and boots. A bolt round blew through him a scant few seconds later.

Rovsky parried a Kaos Marine's power sword and flicked his own weapon down the length of the blade, cutting through his opponent's wrist. He slashed upward and cleaved the traitor's helm in two. The Arctic Wolf stepped back and managed to interpose his blade between himself and an oncoming axe. Brother Leonid Durri was not so lucky. His armour crumpled under the impact and he fell, dead long before he hit the ground. Rovsky roared in anger and pressed his attack. His chainsword ripped across a Black Legionnaire's chest and reversed into another's neck. It came around in a whistling arc as Rovsky spun and cleaved through a traitor's arm at the elbow.

The Arctic Wolf stumbled as a badly aimed swing smashed into his back. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Brother Trianovik shoved Rovsky out of the way and caught the heretic's follow-up on his outstretched sword. The impact jarred his arm and he nearly dropped the weapon. With his attention on the Marine in front of him, he failed to avoid the strike of a traitor to his side. The blade bit deep, passing down through his neck and exiting out the base of his spine. Trianovik died in a thousand agonies as the power sword ripped out of him, nearly cleaving him in two.

Reminov and Devanovsky fought with their backs against the wall. They simply could not keep up with all their attackers. Reminov fell as a warp-cursed blade cut through his neck while he parried the blow from a traitor to his right. A chainsword impaled Devanovsky and stuck him against the wall. The Marine gasped, blood pouring from his mouth. A laughing servant of Kaos pounded the Marine, beating what little life was left out of him, his black armour running red with the Wolf's blood. Azur Matinov pulled his sergeant into a side room and stood over him. He emptied his rifle's magazine into the chests of the first two heretics to enter the room. A blast of power from a newly arrived Kaos sorcerer tore him apart.

Rovsky choked as an armoured hand wrapped around his throat and lifted him into the air. Hate-filled eyes gazed deep into his pained ones. A cold, despising voice filled his mind. It's words echoed with power and millennia of hatred.

_You loyalist dogs are all the same. You are all weak, and without power._

The hand tightened, slowly crushing the life out of the Arctic Wolf. Rovsky's eyes flickered to his inert sergeant before returning to his killer's face. The heretic smiled, revealing row upon row of razor-sharp teeth. Rovsky's hands pulled at the traitor's arm, but failed to find purchase on the blood-red armour. A few moments later, the Marine went limp. His body was thrown alongside that of his unconscious sergeant.

* * *

Mendelev ducked under another punch and shoved his captain against the wall. He shouted in the commander's face. 'Captain Riktovi, control yourself!' Brother Roskev stepped forward and grabbed his captain's arm, spinning Riktovi around and pinning him against the wall. It took the combined might of Mendelev and Roskev to keep him there.

Riktovi roared at Mendelev, 'you let them die! You trapped them, and _you_ killed them!'

'I had my orders, sir! I will not disobey Sergeant Lenikov, even if it means his or my death!'

'We took oaths! We swore to protect everyone we could, not just civilians!'

'What, at the cost of more lives?' This time it was Roskev shouting. 'We cannot endanger the lives of these civilians! They are our responsibility! Our purpose is not simply to protect them, but to _die for them!_ Lenikov knew that.'

Riktovi broke free of their grasps and threw Mendelev against the opposite wall. He knocked Roskev to the floor. 'We have never left a brother behind before, dead or alive. _Never!_ You were the first to do so.'

Roskev, gasping for breath, shouted back at his captain. 'If he had not done so, the heretics would be on this level right now! They would be slaughtering the people we have sworn to protect! Your so big on oaths, think about what that would mean!' He froze as Riktovi's pistol rose to point at his chest.

'Nikolai, _no!_' Vassilevski ran down the hall, interposing herself between the captain and Sergeant Roskev. 'Don't do this. Their actions saved the lives of everyone here, including mine. Were you not ordered to protect me at all costs? What do you think "all costs" might mean, Nikolai? Don't do this. You don't want this on your soul.'

Riktovi hesitated. Vassilevski continued talking quietly. Her soothing voice helped to calm him down and his anger faded, replaced by a cold sorrow. He dropped his pistol and fell back against the wall, clutching his head. He moaned, appalled at what he'd been about to do. 'I am so sorry… Mendelev, Roskev, I am so sorry…' His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Mendelev merely nodded. Rovsky, after a slight hesitation, shrugged and stepped forward, resting a hand on his captain's shoulder. 'The Rage is in us all, captain. It is an understandable mistake.'

Captain Riktovi mutely shook his head, disagreeing with the sergeant. He knew he should never fall so low. To do so was to endanger those under his command, and that was unacceptable. He turned his gaze as another Marine approached. He buried his self-loathing further inside of him. Brother Sorev hesitated before speaking, glancing at the assembled Marines and Inquisitor in momentary confusion.

'Captain Riktovi, I found something on Level Six. Perhaps you should come see it for yourself.'

Riktovi kept his gaze on the floor. 'What is it?'

Sorev hesitated before repeating himself. 'Perhaps you should come see it for yourself.'

Riktovi sat silent for a few moments before responding. 'Very well. Sergeant Roskev, you have command. Prepare for immediate assault, and begin moving all noncombatants to the reactor and armory levels.'

'Yes captain.'

Riktovi nodded to Mendelev and whispered goodbye to Vassilevski. He shuddered as he passed from their view. He could still feel the cold grip of the anger, the hatred in his heart. It sickened him. In a daze, he followed Sorev through the halls to a less-traveled stairway. He stepped through the door and into freezing temperatures. He felt the cold even through his armour, cutting and biting at him like no creature could. A thin layer of ice glistened over the metal railings and stairs. The two Marines descended slowly and carefully. Riktovi glanced around him.

'What's different? Why is it so cold?'

'I actually believe this shaft has an opening on the surface, likely too small to be noticed.'

'A method of defense, or an escape route?'

Sorev shrugged. 'It could be anything, though I believe it is the former. Nothing in the Librarium mentions this stairwell. It's not shown on the base schematics either.'

'But it connects with Level Six?'

The champion hesitated. 'Actually, no. I estimate the two levels to be of approximately the same depth though. This new one has multiple shafts leading deeper than the rest of the installation, and looks as though it hasn't been in use since its creation.'

'What do you know about it?' The captain stepped off the stairs onto a small landing. He waited for Sorev to open the blast door and stepped through. He glanced at the doorway. 'That door is more than a little thick.'

'Aye captain, it is. It could withstand anything short of a point-blank blast from a Predator-mounted lascannon. When our ancestors, the settlers to this world, arrived from Terra, they built numerous subterranean installations, this one included. In each one, they built secret levels and passages in case they needed to hide, or escape in a hurry. Many of them were sealed off as the need for them faded. Those that were kept were simply added to the schematics and made known to all. This one was not. I do not think it was built by those brave settlers either.'

Sorev paused when they reached an intersection. 'This is a highly shielded level. Nothing short of a planet-killer missile could reach it. As such, radio contact is cut off from anyone in the rest of the installation, unless they are in any of the levels that split off from this one. I thought we could use it as a fallback point. There's an armory down the hall to your left. It's got some outdated weaponry, but also a few bolters of an unknown design to me. It's stocked with every kind of weapon in the Imperium, and has enough of them to outfit the entire Chapter a dozen times over. A high-power communications room is on the right, behind a trio of blast doors and security checkpoints. My belief is that it could contact Terra rather easily, and that's saying something.' Sorev nodded at the hall in front of them. 'That one, we're not sure about.'

The two Marines resumed their march, taking the central corridor. Riktovi glanced at the Librarian in confusion. 'You know all that about the rest of the installation, but nothing about this one hallway? Why not?'

They rounded a corner and stepped into total darkness. Their helmet lamps snapped on and cut lines through the shadows. Sorev's voice came from Riktovi's right, but the librarian was otherwise invisible. 'Well captain, this is one reason. It's not that there was a power-outage in this section, there just aren't any lights. It continues on like this for a few hundred meters, twisting and turning. At the end of this hall is a blast door locked down too tight for Zukev to open. It doesn't respond to any command codes he knows. But that's not what's got me.'

'Our best Tech-Marine can't open a door, but that's not what's got you huh? Of course it isn't.'

Mobile, lightweight work lights illuminated the area ahead. Tech-Marine Ios Zukev knelt at a console, practically buried in tools and wires. His servo-arms twitched erratically as he muttered to himself. A massive blast door blocked any further passage down the hall. It looked to be made out of an old material, no metal Riktovi had ever seen. Despite its undeniable age, there was no evidence of rust or weakness.

'Possible starship hull… no, too thick. Unknown metal composition… Doesn't respond to the entreaties of the Omnissiah… No scars or blemishes of any kind… why? Absorbs light like no other object in the material universe, possible xeno manufacture? No… not with that symbol up there… No codes… Console make is unknown to me…'

Riktovi tuned out Zukev's mutterings and scanned the door. It seemed to absorb the light, yet at the same time glow with its own radiance of purest night. Nothing reflected off the pristine, smooth metal. Riktovi ran a hand across it, marveling at the master engineering that went into such a thing. He glanced further up the door and stepped back in surprise. Gleaming serenely in the light of his shoulder lamp, like it had every right to be there, rested the golden sigil of the Archangels.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Kraanath ran. His boots sank deep into this cursed world's snow, slowing him down. The daemonic howls of the giant wolves rebounded off the mountains around him. Gunfire echoed behind the Chaos Marine as his more idiotic brethren turned to fight. Their screams were quickly silenced. A shadow enveloped him and he threw himself flat, sliding out of control on a patch of ice. One of the great beasts leapt over him, landing nimbly and turning to face him.

A grenade detonated on its side and threw it flat. Blood sprayed across the snow and ice for dozens of meters in every direction. Krak grenades were usually used against armoured vehicles. A fellow Legionnaire ran past, not even glancing at his unit commander. Kraanath, the chosen of the Undivided Gods, rose and glanced about him. Dozens of Black Legion Marines littered the ground, an equal number still up and fighting. Their pitch-black armour stood out against the snow, picking them out as targets.

A Havoc Marine shouldered his missile launcher ready to fire. Just before his finger depressed on the trigger, massive jaws snapped shut around his midsection. The rocket launched from the tube and sped into the sky, wasted. The claws of the beast descended on the Chaos marine in its maw and tore him in half. There were only ten of the animals, yet they'd claimed the lives of twice that number of Legionnaires. Only three of the wolves had been killed.

Kraanath sighted on the nearest beast and emptied his magazine. His mouth dropped open as the giant wolf sped past him, avoiding every one of his shots. Its claws speared through him and lifted him into the air. He hung there for a moment in intense agony before the animal's jaws crushed his helm.

* * *

One hundred Marines of the Black Legion marched towards the Rusyan Shelter. With the knowledge torn from Captain Rilkov's mind, they knew the Arctic Wolf gene-seed was hidden deep within that installation. They also knew exactly how quickly they would need to move to stop the Terminator from collapsing the facility. Each one of the traitor Marines grinned, relishing the prospect of the coming slaughter. Not one of them noted the gathering clouds.

Snow drifted from the heavens, swirling around the Legionnaires as the wind picked up. The Marines ignored the brewing storm, believing completely that they could withstand it. They did not know the strength of Angura's blizzards. The snowfall increased., blinding them. Freezing winds tore at them, icing over their armour in seconds. Temperatures dropped, not only here but all across the planet. Angura would not suffer the taint on her surface to remain.

The winds gathered in speed and power. Shouts rose among the Black legion Marines as they struggled to keep their footing. They failed. They were torn from the snow and ice by the dozens, tossed aside like rag dolls. Sorcerers strained to shield themselves from the freezing, shredding winds, but failed. The power of the Chaos Gods was nothing compared to that of nature itself.

Chunks of ice, driven to unimaginable speeds, blew through the armour of a heretical Dreadnought. It exploded and the flames were blown into the faces of the traitors behind it. Their eyes burned, their skin peeled and blackened. A moment later they were thrown into the air by the hellish winds. After a few minutes, not a single one of the heretics lived. The winds died down and the snow drifted lazily once more. The bodies froze and were covered. All was silent.

* * *

All he knew was pain. It consumed him, tore into him for every waking moment. His eyes opened but did not see. He screamed, but heard no sound. He fought against unnatural restraints to no avail. The agony surrounded him. It became his only reality. All he knew was pain. All he'd ever known was pain. With every passing second it rose to new heights, never lessening. He was not permitted the blessing of unconsciousness.

His perception altered just as the blazing agony rose to unimaginable levels. It took him an eternity to realize, through the blinding haze of pain, what had changed, what was new. Finally he managed to identify it. It was laughter. Simple, cold, purely cruel laughter. It forced its way into his mind, its every tone a new and previously unimagined level of agony. An eternity later, the sound faded to nothing.

He could see. He fell to his knees in an otherwise empty field. Whispers on the edge of hearing swirled around him. The agony abruptly left him. He gasped, drawing the first breath he'd had for an era. The grass swayed in the wind and tapped against his bleeding body. Every short moment of contact caused him pain. A light breeze caressed him, soothing the pain until he felt nothing.

He struggled to make sense of the voices. In the far distance he thought he could make out faint specters. The two fought, flashes of amazing power illuminating them. He could barely discern their voices.

_I will have him! He will die! _The anger and malice appalled him. It was a voice of pure evil, and he knew he was the subject it so desired.

It argued with a voice of overwhelming purity. A magnificent explosion of power emphasized its one-word answer: _No._

Instantly all pain ceased. A gentle wind caressed him. A figure appeared before him. Their eyes locked. He gazed at a face both young and old. A small, sad smile creased the other's features. Other shades faded into existence beside it, at once newly born and immensely ancient. He failed to pierce the haze around him to see them clearly. He finally sank into blissful oblivion with a final thought accompanying him.

_You are not alone, Kyr, for we are with you.

* * *

_

Captain Ordnatev roared in agony as the Kaos Marine twisted its blade deeper. He fell to his knees, each breath causing him pain. His adversary grinned before pulling the blade free of Ordnatev's side. The knife glistened with his blood. It began to arc towards the captain's neck before falling to the ground, clutched tightly in the traitor's hand. The Black Legionnaire stared at the stump of its arm until a screeching chainsword cleaved it in two. A scout's hands grabbed the captain and dragged him down the hall.

Red emergency lights flickered overhead. Gusts of freezing air scattered the haze of gun smoke and blood. Screams of anger and agony vied for dominance in the confines of the Drittskaya Installation's halls and outer bunkers. Black Legion Marines crowded forward, swarming through the corridors and screaming insults to the Emperor and His Marines. At every turn they were met with a deadly hail of gunfire. Every step was bought with the traitors' blood. Every step was easily paid for ten times over.

Brother Null Arsenov of the Scout Company dragged Ordnatev into a side room. Nodding to the Marines inside, he drew his knives and leapt into the hall once more. Bolt rounds whistled past his ear, blasting holes in the wall. He ignored them and dove forward. He came up from his roll and his knives bit deep into the necks of two Kaos Marines. He spun and ripped the blades free. Dark blood hung in the air before spraying the already-drenched floor and walls. Arsenov ducked under a sword-swing and rammed one of his knives into the heretic's eye. His other blade flew from his outstretched hand and bit into a traitor's throat.

The scout ducked back as an axe arced towards him. The arc continued past him and the attacker was put off balance for the briefest of seconds. Even that was plenty of time for Arsenov to capitalize. He grabbed the flat ends of the blade and pulled hard, yanking the weapon from its wielder's grasp. He smashed the handle against his opponent's head, snapping it sideways and breaking the neck. Arsenov flipped the weapon so he was holding it properly and laid into the enemy. He swung the axe around in vicious arcs, beheading some traitor Marines, shattering the chests and arms of others. The axe-blade snapped and he let the weapon fall.

The Arctic Wolf Scout swept his legs around him, knocking Kaos Marines from their feet. His tightly curled fingers dug into throats, crushing windpipes and smashing into soft spots around the bases of his enemies' necks. His boot lashed out and crushed a rising heretic's chest. Arsenov grimaced as the impact resonated throughout his entire body, but he did not slow. He descended into a haze of hatred and fury, as close to the clutches of the Black Rage as he'd ever been before. Then it was over. Only a few minutes had passed.

The scout knelt among the fallen and fished out his knives, wiping them clean with a rag pulled from his belt-pouch. He turned and walked back to his captain. Arsenov knelt in front of him and quickly examined the older Marine's wounds. Satisfied his captain would live, he spoke.

'Captain Ordnatev, the Black Legion assault force in this section has been destroyed. The other sections have reported success as well, but with heavy losses. What are my orders?'

Ordnatev gasped and grit his teeth against the pain in his chest and side. He struggled to an upright position and slid back to rest against the wall. He glanced at his command squad sergeant and addressed the scout. 'The company will remain here and hold out as long as we can. You will go to the Nikols Outpost and regroup with Captain Riktovi. Your primary objective is to protect Inquisitor Vassilevski. As a visitor to our world, and as an Inquisitor, she is worth more than all our lives. Keep her alive at _all_ costs.'

Arsenov nodded. 'Yes captain. Are there any other objectives?'

'Just one. Delay and destroy the Black Legion wherever possible. Use any means necessary.'

'Yes captain. What are my rules of engagement?'

'You are free to fire on anything and anyone. Stay hidden as much as possible.'

'Will I have access to support of any kind?'

'Only what Riktovi can provide. Otherwise you are on your own.'

'I understand. Good luck to you, captain. May the Emperor watch over your soul.'

'And yours, Arsenov. May you rejoin your team at His side in safety.'

* * *

The vox network was in chaos. Gunfire, screams of anger and pain, and shouted orders mixed with random bursts of static to paint a backdrop of hell.

'_The broke through the blast doors! The level is breached!'_

'_Level Three is in flames. It's gone.'_

'_Where are the civilians from Section Nine?'_

'_Primary Control Room is lost.'_

'_Where are the civilians?'_

_Holy Terra, they've loosed the daemons.'_

Riktovi traded fire with a dug-in traitor squad. He ducked back to reload and glanced at Sorev. The Champion hadn't moved in a while. He stood against the wall, oblivious to the Kaos Marines out in the hall. His eyes were closed and he whispered in an arcane language Riktovi didn't recognize. He shrugged, shouldered his rifle, and leaned into the hall, opening fire. Blood sprayed and a traitor went down. A bolt round skipped off Riktovi's shoulder pad and he winced. He keyed his vox and shouted, 'Where s Vassilevski? Where is the Inquisitor?'

The captain opened fire again, catching an advancing heretic in the chest. Bolter shells tore into the wall around him. A grenade arced down the hall, exploding in the middle of an Arctic Wolf squad. The Marines were ripped apart. Riktovi struggled to contain his worry over the Inquisitor as he emptied his magazine.

'Captain!' Sergeant Roskev slid into cover beside him, firing blindly at the Kaos marines. 'Brother, we must pull back.' He paused as cursed bolt rounds dug into his chest plate and threw him to the floor. Spitting blood from his mouth, he continued. 'We are encircled. If we don't leave now we'll be completely cut of from the lower levels.'

'Understood. Sorev, it's time to move!' The Champion ignored him. 'Sorev!'

The Marine's eyes flashed and a deafening explosion threw them flat. Flames poured over the attackers, eating through their armour with contemptuous ease. A flash of blue light illuminated the corridor and a second wave of flame, thin as paper and resting at chest height, cut through the heretics and sliced them in half. The hall fell silent. Sorev blinked and faced the captain, dripping with sweat. 'Ready to move, captain.'

Riktovi stared at the champion in absolute awe for a moment before nodding. The three Marines rose and sprinted down the corridor they'd defended so fiercely moments before. Their boots splashed through puddles of blood and melted flesh. A smoky haze partially obscured the carnage, for which Riktovi was grateful. A brother Marine stood just within the stairwell.

'Captain, Inquisitor Vassilevski is missing.'

Riktovi stepped through, allowing the blast doors to slam shut. Taking the steps two at a time, he began the long descent. 'Define "missing", sergeant.'

Assault Sergeant Korrel Satinov followed the rushing captain, slinging his power-axe over his shoulder and running a hand along the frost-covered railing. 'Ever since your original fall-back order, no brother has had sight of her. Nothing is on the vox either. She is missing, brother.'

The older Marine swore. 'Find her, sergeant. She is now your priority, to no exception.'

Satinov nodded his understanding. 'One more thing, captain.' He hesitated, unsure of how his commander would react to the news. 'Novgorod was destroyed. The Rusyan Shelter's charges were detonated. No contact from either Voychev or Dzhugashvili.'

Riktovi paused a moment before responding. He gave an internal sigh and shoved the probable casualty figures from his mind. 'Understood. Proceed with your new objective. Find her.'

Satinov sketched a quick bow, nodded in Roskev's direction and stepped onto Level Five. Riktovi, followed by Roskev and Sorev, continued on to Level Seven. They stepped into noticeably warmer halls, packed with civilians. The Marines could barely thread their way through the crowd. The captain shook his head. If the Black Legion made it this far, it would be a slaughter. Spotting the black-armoured form of a chaplain, he called out, gently but firmly pushing his way past terrified civilians.

'Igarka!' Riktovi swore under his breath at the non-combatants around him. He turned to Roskev. 'Zurik, find out if there's any way to move more of these civilians to the lower levels.'

'Captain, there are only two more, and one of those is the Reactor Level.'

'We cannot fight in this.'

'Brother,' Sorev whispered. 'Might I suggest the new levels?'

Riktovi blinked. 'Aye, you might at that. Understood. Sergeant, move as many civilians as you can to Level Six. There is another set of secure floors connecting to it. Send them there.'

'There are – what?'

Riktovi let out an exasperated sigh. 'Sorev will show you. Send all non-combatants to the lowest level there. Dismissed.' He turned just as Chaplain Ulitsk Igarka managed to wade through the crowd to him.

'Brother Nikolai. How may I be of service?'

'It's Lenikov.'

'Ah. And where is the sergeant?' Igarka gave a small smile.

Riktovi hesitated. He knew this would hurt. After all, Kyr was almost a son to the old Marine. Then again, the entire Chapter was as family. 'I fear he may be dead.'

Igarka blinked as though struck. 'I see. And how did this occur?'

'He knocked me out of the path of a warp-blade, then had Mendelev get me to the fall-back point. He and his squad covered the retreat. Only Mendelev and I made it past the blast door. I am sorry, Father.'

Igarka gazed at the floor a moment, his eyes hard. His hands curled into fists. 'I see.'

'There is another thing,' Riktovi glanced at his hands, gazing at the scars in the gauntlets. 'He was anger, nearly consumed by hatred of the Kaos Marines. He let that anger and hatred grow and take hold. He may have died while lost to it completely.'

Igarka faced the captain. 'He was sick, Nikolai. Not well. Every human, every Marine has a breaking point. He should have been able to remain in the base chapel.'

'He requested deployment–'

'He should have been denied! You could see it in his eyes. He yet maintained his faith in the Emperor, but it was clouded by grief. He had lost faith in himself. He was trying to absolve himself of his perceived failings through the fires of combat.'

'It is the only way.'

'It is not!' The chaplain's mask of indifference finally slipped. A cold fury settled over him, shocking Riktovi with its intensity.

'What you fail to realize, captain, is that the Emperor is the answer to all things. The Emperor will guide you through every trial and carry you every time you stumble or fall, if you but ask.'

'Are you saying Lenikov didn't ask? Did you not hear his cries?'

'I am saying he didn't ask with or from his soul. He only voiced his please and wished for aid with his heart and mind. But he truly believed that all his pains were deserved. He believed that his burdens were his alone to bear.'

'You are wrong. It is as you once said: Sergeant Lenikov was the most loyal and faithful of us all. He did ask for help. And he received it, I'm sure. If he fell it was because the Emperor wanted him for another task.'

'You claim to know His will?'

'Do you?'

The Marines winced as their vox systems blurted out a deafening screech of static. Riktovi stumbled back and Igarka fell to his knees as a voice filled with loathing spoke to them.

'_Dogs of the Imperium, hear me.'_ Pain wracked the captain, spreading from his mechanical arm throughout his entire body with lightning speed. Igarka swore, clutching his head. The voice itself caused agony, sowed fear and cowardice throughout the compound.

'_What is it that you fear? What terrors hold you in their grasp? For the blind followers of the corpse-god, death and mutilation.'_

Scenes of unimaginable carnage surrounded the Imperials. Marines and civilians alike recoiled from the images of unrelenting slaughter. Bodies covered the ground, torn apart, leaving their organs for the flights of daemonic carrion to feast. Screams of agony swam on hellish winds, rising in pitch and dragging on, never ending. Spiked cages held moaning and writhing Imperials, impaled on the ends of a half-dozen rusted and bloodied spikes. The laughter of Daemon Lords echoed across the blasted landscape.

'_For the ignorant keepers of a dieing faith, it is heresy, treachery, and Truth.'_

Guardsman fought Guardsman, armies of millions clashing on open, blood-drenched landscapes. Marines fought their brothers on the steps of the Emperor's Palace on Terra. The flags of the Imperium were struck down and burned. An empire lay shattered. The Emperor himself laughed maniacally.

'_Wolves, my brothers. What is it that you fear? Do you truly not know such base emotions? Or do you fear failure?'_

Angura burned. Firestorms raged across the tainted sky. The bodies of fallen civilians were consumed, their souls writhing in agony. Daemons stalked the melting Moskva Ice Fields, slaughtering the few Marines left. The powerful Anguran Wolves died easily, their howls of anguish fading slowly. Cracks opened in the surface of the planet, molten fire flowed forth. Acidic rain burned through the bodies of the fallen. The monuments to the Emperor were toppled and shattered. The laughter of thirsting Gods consumed all.

'_For one amongst you, it is the most inevitable of fates. Your fear, my brother, is death. Not yours, but _hers._'_

All lighting failed, leaving the compound in complete darkness. AS screams and shouts of terror rose from the civilians, agonized breathing sounded through the base's own vox-casters. The lights flickered and for the briefest of seconds, blood flowed down the walls and dripped from the ceiling. A young woman's screams echoed throughout the corridors. Riktovi's name floated through the minds of the Imperials, almost as though it were a cry for his aid. The captain himself shouted in agonized horror, recognizing the woman's voice: _'Patrova!'_

Her screams cut off abruptly, leaving him cold and empty. He jerked as if physically struck. The lighting returned. Riktovi found himself on his knees, sweat dripping off him. Igarka reeled, hand outstretched to maintain balance.

'_None of you will survive. Your efforts will be for naught, and you will lie in an ever-expanding pool of your own blood. Eternal torment lays in wait for those who resist. Why do you continue to do so? You blindly follow a corrupt government, willingly subsume ourselves to a false religion that worships a dead god that has never, and can never do anything for you. You crawl, mewling in the dirt throughout your petty lives. It is no wonder my Gods have ordained your destruction.'_

Finally the voice faded and the pressure eased from the minds of the Imperials. Igarka swore, wiping blood from beneath his eyes. Riktovi stood on shaking legs and shouted into the vox: 'Satinov, find her! For Terra's sake, find her!'

His response was heavily laced with static. _'Captain, all civilians from Section Nine from the upper levels are missing. Permission to return there?'_

'You think she could be in that area?'

'_I think it's possible.'_

'Granted.' Riktovi raged at himself, hating himself for being unable to conduct the search in person because of his command.

Igarka rested his hand on Riktovi's shoulder. 'The Emperor will protect her, lad. Trust me on that.'


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The axe-blade came down in a whistling arc. A bolt round flashed towards him. Traitors crowded around him. They were all too slow. The Marine ducked and spun, impaling the axe-wielder on the end of his chainsword. The bolt round sped past him and into another heretic behind. He smashed his knee into the chest plate of another Kaos Marine and stepped back, ripping his sword free and across his newest foe's neck. The servant of the warp dropped, tainted blood pumping from the deep gash across the throat.

The Marine calmly raised his pistol and snapped off a trio of shots. Each one exploded in the chests of three onrushing heretics. Tainted blood flowed from the walls, covering the floor. Bodies filled the corridor. Heretical voices whispered corruption in his mind, but they were blocked with ease. He parried a power sword and shattered the blade with the force of his blow. Reversing his grip on his own sword, he thrust it behind him and into the midsection of another heretic before bringing it back across the chest of the traitor to his front. He sidestepped an axe-blade and smashed his fist into the warp-spawn's face. He followed through with a single shot from his bolt pistol. It was his last, but he didn't care.

Laughter, cold and cruel, washed over him. Talons of fire raked his mind, eliciting a grunt of agony from him before he could close himself off. His chainsword broke, lodged deep within a Kaos Marine's back. The Marine used what remained of the weapon as a crude spiked club and smashed in the skull of the final traitor. Silence now reigned and he let the broken weapon fall. His eyes roamed over the fallen servants of Kaos, narrowing in disgust and pity. Shaking his head at the Kaos Marines' blind treachery, the sergeant collected his spent bolter rifle and pistol. He paused as the corridor's weak flickering lights caught the edge of a small symbol carved into his vambrace. It was a howling wolf surrounded by flames.

He brought the symbol closer to his face, examining the detail and care that had gone into it. Closing his eyes, the Marine sighed and slowly lowered his arm. He whispered a brief prayer to the Emperor for the wellbeing of his brother's soul. When the sergeant's eyes opened, they were cold with fury. His hands curled into fists, anger and sorrow permeating every fiber of his being. With a final glance at the fallen traitors, he strode into the darkness.

* * *

The blast doors irised open with a hiss. Satinov and his squad moved into blood-drenched halls, carefully stepping over and around countless fallen bodies. The doors shut once more when they were all through. Blood stained the walls, pooling two-inches deep on the floor. The silence was all-consuming, pervading the very air around them. The Arctic Wolves shuddered as they glanced at the carnage.

Satinov shifted a few of the bodies, searching for his lost brothers. His squad followed suit. The sergeant listed off names as the fallen Marines were found. 'Rovsky, Durri, Kalinovi, Matinov, Devanovsky, Valinov, Trianovik and Reminov. Where is the sergeant? Where is Lenikov?'

Rukenovi took off his helm, coughing and gagging on the stench. He quickly replaced it. Gasping, he reported his analysis. 'Major psyker activity is present, sergeant. You can sense it. A lot of charred flesh as well, as to be expected.'

Satinov nodded. 'So he's long gone then, either dead and burned to ash or taken. Either way, it is unfortunately not our concern. We will proceed on mission.'

After receiving reluctant nods in confirmation, he led his squad further into the darkness. Their shoulder lamps cut dim lines through the shadows. The Marines whispered brief prayers for each Arctic Wolf they passed. After the twentieth, they stopped. After the fiftieth, Satinov stopped counting, dismayed by the losses. He led his squad quietly through the ravaged corridors. Their boots sank deeper into the pools of blood. Occasionally they were forced to walk on virtual carpets of dead.

His Marines talked in low whispers, striving to keep their minds off the horrors around them. Satinov winced as he caught sight of a symbol of Kaos carved into the wall. He rubbed his head and turned away, trying to block out the pain merely laying eyes on the obscenity had caused. He and his squad froze as an echo made its way through the corridors. Something was feasting on the dead. Over the ripping and tearing they heard growls and muffled shrikes of more daemons. The sergeant pushed them from his mind and continued on.

The agonized screams of a tortured civilian pounded into them. They grimaced when the cries faded into sobbing pleas for mercy or oblivion before transforming once more into prolonged screams of anguish. Satinov shook his head in sorrow and anger. He could only hope the Emperor would take the Imperial safely into His grasp when death finally came. If it came.

The assault sergeant grimaced as the pools of blood rose to his knees. He paused as a droplet splashed across his shoulder pad. The walls and ceiling were covered with it. The darkness pressed in around him, suffocating him. His lights dimmed before going out completely. He swore, grabbing his power axe and spinning so that his back was against the wall. He heard his squad mates doing likewise, the blood splashing and staining their armour. He keyed his vox and winced as static washed over him, sending him to his knees. He gasped as pain on a level he'd never known enveloped him.

Biting back a scream , Satinov ripped off his helm and threw it to the floor. He stood, hearts racing. Running a hand along the wall, power axe at the ready, he moved back the way he came. 'Brothers, ready and stand to.'

'Aye.'

Satinov paused. 'Brothers, report.'

'Doyest Rukenovi reporting. I can't see a thing.'

The sergeant grimaced. 'Neither can I. Dostenevsky, Zavonov, Zorev, report.' He waited a moment before giving up. He cursed. 'Holy hells! Rukenovi, where'd they go?'

'If I may make an assumption?'

Satinov squinted, struggling to make out the dim outline of his battle-brother. 'Do so.'

'The blood.'

'Clarify.'

'It has risen. Can you not feel it? Can you not hear it?'

Satinov froze. 'Hear what?'

'It calls us, whispering so very quietly. I can't – I can't make out the words.' The Marine groaned. 'It is strong.'

The assault sergeant knelt, holding his power axe at the ready. 'Brother Rukenovi, clear your mind and explain yourself.'

'The blood, sergeant, the blood! It's siren call is all around us. It bounces off the walls. It thickens the air. It keens in your veins… If you listen, you may heed its words.'

'For Terra's sake, what words?' Satinov winced as a flash of light washed through the corridor, nearly blinding him. He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the sight before him. 'Rukenovi?'

A Marine devoid of armour or chapter insignia turned to face him. He was covered in thousands of gashes through which poured raw, unholy energies. The Marine grinned at him. Blood ran down his chin and from the corners of his eyes. The skin peeled away from his arms and fell to the blood around his feet. He gazed at the musculature and bones a moment before returning his sight to the sergeant. His voice rasped, grating against Satinov's ears. 'Aye, sergeant, 'tis me. The blood calls. Can you not hear it?'

* * *

'Roskev, give me a sitrep.'

The sergeant glanced up from his control console a moment, grimacing. 'It's slow, brother-captain. I'd estimate about eighteen percent of the refugees have been transferred. Brother-Sergeant Kevnovski is getting them settled in. Zukev is still fiddling with that blasted door. He's run through about six portable emergency light systems. Igarka and Sorev are arguing over something, as usual. Sergeant Dostoev is maintaining the security watch by the blast doors. Still no word from anyone outside the installation. No word from Satinov either.' Roskev paused, eyes fixed on his console.

'What is it, Zurik?'

His voice low, Roskev faced his captain slowly. 'Are we all that's left? Twenty-nine Marines? Are we it?'

Riktovi sighed. 'I don't know. I want to say no, but… I really don't know.'

Roskev nodded slowly and gazed at the floor, the glow of his console bathing him with a faint green hue. Riktovi placed a hand on the sergeant's shoulder. 'You know me. You know I don't spout rhetoric learned by rote from a holy book. I am no chaplain. But this is one thing that we must take on faith.'

'Faith in what, Nikolai?'

A sharp voice cut through the room. Chaplain Igarka strode towards them. 'Faith in the Emperor, sergeant. Failing that, faith in your battle-brothers. For whenever the day is darkest, and victory in doubt, look to your battle-brothers. Your brothers will walk through fire, they will stride through the most terrible carnage at a single word from your lips, and they will bring you victory simply because you ask it of them.'

Riktovi shook his head. 'We all know Guilliman's Apocrypha of Skaros, Igarka. Those are just words, no more. We cannot pull victory out of this simply with faith, no matter who or what that faith is in.'

The chaplain nodded slowly. 'Aye, that is true. But without it we are nothing. Faith and honour are what define us. Even in the darkest of times we cannot set it aside, for faith is the lamp that will show us the way. We may not secure victory or safety here, now, for us, but our actions will enable others to do so.'

Riktovi shrugged. 'I suppose that's all we can ever ask for. In the end it matters not. The result is the same. Roskev, maintain watch over the transfer. Igarka, walk with me.'

The sergeant bowed low and resumed his work. 'Yes captain. Thank you for your words, Father.'

Igarka inclined his head to Roskev and followed Riktovi out of the room. The corridors were eerily silent, despite the refugees that filled them. Riktovi praised the Emperor for the ability to walk easily down the halls now that so many civilians had been transferred. The people of Angura bowed and whispered thanks to the Wolves as they passed. Some reached to touch their armour as they would for a blessing or the benefit of luck. In their eyes was a level of love, gratitude, and even reverence that unnerved the Astartes captain. He murmured a prayer to the Emperor and shrugged off the unease.

Igarka stepped aside to allow a bandaged Guardsman passage. Glancing at the captain, he spoke. 'What is it that you require of me, brother-captain?'

Riktovi shook his head. 'We are losing. Only twenty-nine of my company yet stand, supported by no more than fifty troopers of the Imperial Guard. An agent of the Holy Inquisition, Lady Vassilevski, is missing and presumed killed. Our gene-seed is destroyed. We have no hope for the survival of ourselves, or Anguran civilization, or our Chapter. Yet you continue to stalk the corridors reciting holy lessons from the works dedicated to the Emperor.'

Igarka gazed at the captain and crossed his arms. He grimaced. 'Faith is at the core of our being, captain. We must always hold it in the fore of our minds. We-'

Riktovi cut the chaplain off with a wave of his hand. 'I tire of your lessons. Spouting rhetoric we all know by heart does nothing. Speak from your heart rather than your memory if you must speak at all. Fiery oratory is all well and good, but it can be just as draining to a warrior as defeatist talk.'

'You dare to lecture me?'

'Stand down chaplain. That's enough. You are dismissed.'

Cold fury settled over Igarka. He closed his eyes a moment and banished the feeling. He bowed. 'Your will, captain. I am sorry.'

Sergeant Roskev's voice came over the vox. _'All Marines, ready and stand to. Daemons in the vents.'_

Riktovi's bolter and Igarka's pistol were unholstered and in their hands immediately. The Marines glanced at each other warily before scanning the hallway, hesitantly counting the ventilation shaft openings. Riktovi winced. 'Can you seal the shafts?' Each was designed with a blast door at key junctions that could shut quickly in the case of a gas attack.

'_Negative captain. The console is no longer responding.'_

The captain swore. 'Understood. Have your squad regroup and ready for combat patrol patterns.'

'_Yes captain.'_

Riktovi grimaced as screams echoed throughout the corridors. With the chaplain a step behind, he ran towards the cry. Shouting and gunfire filtered through the static-laced vox. A cry of intense agony and despair coincided with an inhuman screech that chilled Riktovi to the bone. Civilians rushed past the two Marines, struggling to get away from the killers amongst them. Fear rolled off them in waves. The captain caught the scent of freshly-spilled blood and grimaced. A shriek made its way down the hall, followed by a long and drawn out scream of anguish.

Riktovi rounded a corner and stepped into hell. Blood sprayed the walls and covered the floor. Bodies were torn apart, tossed aside like discarded toys. The stench of decay and disease covered everything, causing him to gag. A daemon stood in the center of the corridor, absorbing the light around it. Existing as the shadow of a shadow, it glistened darkly with shed blood. Talons extended from either hand and descended upon an injured Guardsmen at its feet. They passed through him with no resistance, dissecting him cleanly. His blood clung to the blades before fading away. The daemon screeched, showing row upon row of teeth. It leapt at the captain and he opened fire.

Flowing around the bolts like smoke, the shadow smashed into Riktovi, slamming him into the wall. He grabbed at it but caught only air. The daemon's talons stabbed into his arm and pinned it to the wall. He roared as cold agony swept through him. Igarka's pistol sang and the daemon dissolved into shadow,, allowing the shells to pass harmlessly by. It condensed into solid form once more and leapt away. It grabbed the dissected Guardsmen and jumped disappeared into one of the ventilation shafts, pulling the body into the much smaller opening. Bones broke and blood sprayed the wall. Igarka rushed forward and helped Riktovi to his feet. He began to speak but was cut off as a massive explosion shook the compound.

'_All Marines to the blast door.'_ Sergeant Dostoev's voice pierced through a haze of gunfire and grenade detonations. It faded away for a moment as the vox cut out but returned laced with static. _'The traitors have broken through.'_

* * *

First Captain Dzhugashvili's storm bolter roared and another two heretics were sent to meet their gods. He powered through a hastily erected barricade and his power fist descended upon a retreating Traitor Marine. The Black Legionnaire died instantly, crushed with the force of the blow. Dzhugashvili opened fire again and caught an onrushing berserker in the face. He sidestepped a sword swing and took the traitor's head from his shoulders with a blow from the power fist. He was utterly silent.

The giant wolf Ruska strode amongst the traitors without fear. Only death for the Black Legion followed in her wake. Her claws flashed, catching the faint Anguran moonlight before ripping the daemon-worshippers apart. Atop her back, the Chapter Master of the Arctic Wolves roared. His lightning claws scythed through every Kaos Marine within his reach. Ruska howled and together they plunged deeper into the Kaos lines.

Dzhugashvili ducked under a traitor's punch and returned with one of his own, crushing the heretic's chest and sending him flying. The storm bolter in his left hand fired again before running empty. He stepped back to reload and spoke quietly into his vox. 'First Company, move forward. Follow the commander through. Socotovi, target enemy Dreadnought.'

The Devastator Sergeant sent a terse affirmative and a second later a missile detonated on the side of a towering Black Legion Dreadnought. A plasma blast shattered the legs and sent the machine crashing to the ground. It exploded and flame washed across the Kaos Marines around it. A terminator squad charged forward to fill the gap, soaking up the enemy fire. Bolter shells bounced harmlessly off their armour and they returned fire. Those they did not shoot, they tore apart with power fists.

The captain directed one of his tactical squads towards the Nikols Outpost's broken entrance. The terminators moved in support. A Land Raider heavy tank rolled forward and its lascannons sang the glories of the Emperor. The hull-mounted heavy bolters opened up and cleared a path forward for the advancing tactical squad. Voychev leapt down from his animal companion and continued to drive onward. His ancient weapons cut though the enemy with ease while Ruska now fought at his side. Dzhugashvili caught a traitor's axe on his forearm and fired into its face. He stepped over the body and alongside his command sergeant. 'Forward, Wolves. We move to the aid of the Third.'

The First Company swarmed into the breach, charging down the corridors. Bolter fire lanced from their lines and bit deep into the enemy. Dzhugashvili stepped over a fallen Arctic Wolf of the Third Company and growled. He smashed a Traitor Marine to the ground and tore him apart. A cloud of the heretic's tainted blood surrounded the captain and he tasted the vile fluid on his tongue. He spat and bared his fangs, disgusted by the heretical filth. He ordered a flamer unit forward to cleanse the walls of the signs of Kaos. A grenade arched towards him and he shot it out of the air. The explosion smashed into an advancing group of Black Legionnaires. Through the smoke he drove on. He threw a traitor into the wall and crushed its bones. His command sergeant followed him through, firing in his boltgun in short and controlled bursts.

Together the two Marines led the charge. They formed a wall impenetrable by the Kaos Marines. Through decades of service together, they knew each other down to the core of their beings. They knew each other's desires and plans without having to ask. They knew their faults as a team as well as their strengths. The sergeant tucked into a roll as Dzhugashvili fired twice over him. The captain followed him and tore down a heretic to his side. The sergeant spun around his commander and intercepted a sword with his rifle. He stepped forward and smashed the Kaos Marin's face in with his weapon.

* * *

Six levels below the advancing First Company, Captain Riktovi slammed into a Kaos Marine and cut it in two with his power sword. He parried a blow from an axe and stepped away, trying to gain a moment of respite. Sergeant Roskev took his place and shot the traitor in the chest. Riktovi grunted as a bolt shell smashed into his helm. He stumbled backwards and tore it off. He tossed it to a Marine behind in and returned to the fight, Brother Mendelev charging in alongside him.

The younger Marine activated his chainsword and his roar of hatred rivaled the report of his bolt pistol. He fired a burst at the traitors around Sergeant Roskev. The rounds skipped off their armour but still served their purpose. As the heretics shook off the shells the command sergeant steppe away and fired his rifle, cutting down his assailants. The captain and Marine at his side crashed into the Kaos Marines with all the force of an artillery bombardment. Death followed where they fought. Riktovi blocked an attack meant for Mendelev as the younger Marine dispatched a Kaos Berserker.

Ice-blue flames erupted amongst the Kaos Marines. Their screams gave the Arctic Wolves paused. Riktovi shook off his unease and ordered his brother forward. Brother Deltayn Smirnov smashed aside a heretic with his combat shield. The bolt pistol attached to the shield's inside surface sang and another traitor fell, fountains of blood blossoming on his chest and neck. The Marine turned and raised the shield, intercepting a dozen bolt shells.

Sergeant Roskev stepped alongside his second and fired his rifle. After three shots it clicked empty. The sergeant swore and scrambled to get away from his enemy. A grinning Kaos Marine knocked him flat and impaled him with a daemonic power sword. The weapon's shriek of thirst and pleasure matched Roskev's scream of agony. A flash of blue super-heated plasma sped past the downed Marine and incinerated the traitor. Zutan stepped forward and pulled the sword out of his commander, tossing it aside in disgust. His plasma gun flashed and another Black Legionnaire died.

Brother Mendelev pulled his captain away from the fight, narrowly avoiding the swing of an axe. 'Captain, I hear gunfire and explosions.'

Riktovi gave the younger Marine a wry smile and reloaded his boltgun. 'Now I wonder why that would be.'

Mendelev smirked but shook his head. 'Not us. Above.'

At that moment the installation shook and dust fell from the ceiling. All combatants, Imperial and traitor alike, were thrown from their feet. Cracks lined the walls of the corridor. A portion of the roof collapsed, smashing a heretic flat. The Arctic Wolves scrambled to their feet and retreated, struggling to get out of the weakened area. More of the roof fell in and caught two Wolves, sending them sprawling. One of the loyalists got to his feet and took a bolt round to the back. His armour gave no resistance. The other was covered in debris as more of the corridor collapsed.

Riktovi ducked around a corner, struggling to see through the dust. He grunted as a chunk of adamantium-reinforced ceramite struck his shoulder pad. He stumbled but kept his feet. Sergeant Roskev and his squad moved just ahead of him. Dostoev lagged a step behind. Every Marine was but a shadow in the mist. The captain coughed and shielded his eyes. A few steps more and he was clear. Dostoev and one other Marine pushed out of the smoke behind him.

Roskev was speaking into the vox. 'Kevnovski, police all corridors connecting with the blast door. There was a structural collapse. Kaos may have slipped through.'

'_Understood. It will be done.'_

The sergeant looked at his commander. 'I suffered no losses. Dostoev's squad is gone, excluding himself.'

Librarian Sorev stepped forward. 'I understand this may not be the best time, captain, but I have news of an installation not our own.'

Riktovi turned to appraise the Champion. 'And?'

'Brother-Librarian Kazin Verenov, Mentor of the Order's Adepts has died. As has Sergeant Vilan Coretsk, the Guardsman Champion. I have felt their death cries.' He tapped his head and grimaced. 'The Order training facility has fallen.'

Riktovi winced. He moved the survivors away from the collapsed corridor. After a moment, he spoke into the vox. 'Brother Mendelev, report. What is your location?'

* * *

Battle-Brother Lavon Mendelev ignored his captain's repeating queries. He shut off the vox and removes his helm. His eyes were closed. The young Marine took a slow and deep breath. Sweat dripped off his face and onto his armour, splashing and running alongside heretic blood. He allowed the helm to fall and moved his hands to form the Imperial Aquila over his chest, lowering himself to his knees. The Marine ignored the approaching footsteps. He gave a slow and sad smile, opening his eyes. He gazed past the encroaching Black Legionnaires and into the darkness beyond. Mendelev quietly voiced the first words of the Imperial Prayer as a traitor raised its boltgun to his head. By the fourth word of the prayer, the trigger was pulled. The Arctic Wolf's blood stained the debris of the collapsed corridor behind him.

* * *

The sergeant slipped and fell, splashing into the knee-high pools of blood running through the corridor. The thing that had been Brother Zavonov leapt at him again. The Assault Sergeant raised his power axe and took the mutated Marine's head from his shoulders. Clawed and scaled arms flailing, the beast sank into the blood farther than it should have and disappeared from sight.

Sergeant Satinov swore as the putrescent form of Brother Rukenovi exploded out of the blood-river for perhaps the fifth time, unholy energies weeping from the open wounds and sores covering the Marine's body. Satinov sidestepped his possessed brother and smashed the flat of the axe blade into his chest, sending the forsaken Marine stumbling into the wall. The sergeant swung his axe again but caught only air as – for the fifth time – his lost brother sank into the life-fluid at their feet. Satinov roared in fury and frustration.

A single tear of grief fell from his face. He had loved his squad mates as the brothers they were. Now he was forced to struggle to end them in the unrecognizable blood-drenched corridors of his home. The sergeant roared his anger at the Kaos Gods as another body rose from the depths, this time Brother Zorev.

The Marine's chest plate split to reveal a circular mouth filled with hundreds of razor teeth. An inhuman screech curled the blood-soaked air and the mutant's arms broke free of the skin covering them, changing into long, spiked club-like appendages. The freak bonded forward through the blood and swung one of its new arms at the sergeant. Satinov ducked under the arm and rotated, bringing his axe across his brother's arm and severing it. The mutant's shrieks took on a new pitch and it stepped forward, attempting to spear Satinov on the end of its remaining arm. The assault sergeant spun his power axe and cut it off at the middle. Following through, he stepped alongside the beast and cleaved it in two. The separate halves faded into the darkness, poison fog hazing the air.

Korrel Satinov coughed fell into a seizure, collapsing against the wall. Blood ran from the corners of his eyes and he shook his head, denying his enemy the right to kill him. Laughter flitted through the air, taunting him. The sergeant turned and watched two more of his brothers return from the blood. Brothers Dostenevsky and Rukenovi, twins in their new appearances, grinned at their sergeant. Their smiles split their faces in half and their thick forked tongues flicked over dagger-sized teeth. Dostenevsky spoke in a low and grating voice. 'You cannot fight the blood, sergeant, for it fights for the Blood God.'

Satinov coughed again, covering his mouth and rose with his free hand against the wall. The toxic fog was slowly dissipating, but it was still potent. With his other hand clutching the axe that had saved his life so many times before, Satinov roared in pained fury and launched himself at his former brothers. The axe cut a path through the air, returning across the chest of one of the mutated Marines. The flesh of he who had once been Brother Dostenevsky of the noble Arctic Wolves caught the blade and held fast. The mutant reached down and punched the sergeant across the jaw.

Satinov's head twisted painfully to the side and he fell against the wall. Blood flowed from his mouth and nose. His sight blurred. Without the steel plating in his skull to repair an old wound, he would have died. The sergeant grimaced and struggled to his knees.

A hand reached out to him and he roared as much as his mangled mouth would allow, turning to defend himself. He froze in pained confusion. A woman in the gear of a sister of the Adepta Sororitas stared back at him. Pure, shoulder-length white hair framed her smooth lightly-browned face. A single scar ran across her left eye, from forehead to chin. Her brown eyes were cold and unyielding. She withdrew her hand.

Four more battle-sisters stood behind her with their bolters at the ready. Their cold helms glared into the darkness around them, watching for signs of activity. The mutants were gone, the sergeant's beloved axe gone with them. A woman in formfitting midnight black power armour stepped up to him. Green eyes sparkled behind a half-mask. In one hand was a bolt pistol, in the other a power glaive, its field hissing in the bloody haze hanging in the air.

The assault sergeant leaned against the wall and let out a shuddering breath. His pained eyes cast about the gloom, looking for his fallen brothers. The woman stepped forward and removed her mask, allowing her brown hair to fall to her shoulders. She spoke with a voice of silvered honey.

'Brother Marine, what ails you? What gave you these wounds?' Her gloved hand reached to gently caress Satinov's wounded face. Her fingers trailed ever-so-lightly over the bruised and broken bones of his jaw.

He struggled to form a coherent word but only managed a gasp of pain. He leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, attempting to block out the agony. His right hand curled tightly into a fist, closing around the haft of an axe that wasn't there. He forced his hand open again, knowing it was empty. With another small grunt of intense pain, he slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap on the blood-drenched floor, finally allowing the exhaustion to overcome him.

The woman motioned to her warriors and they formed a semi-circle around the Marine. She looked at his wounded form and quietly reassured him. 'Brother, I am Patrova Vassilevski of the Emperor's Inquisition. You will be safe with us.'


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

They fought with all the fury of avenging angels. The Arctic Wolves First Company moved through the corridors of the Nikols Filruk Outpost at speed, hardly slowing their advance. Commander Kor Voychev led the way, power claws blazing. He moved with rage and hatred at the enemy and drove ever onwards. A small squad of Marines in armour of gold moved with him in lockstep. White ceramite wings spread from their jump packs and blazing halberds and broadswords from the Chapter's reliquary carved through Kaos flesh. Wrist-mounted Angelus bolters fired continuously, each shot felling a traitor. These were the Angels of Blood, the Sanguinary Host. They were the honoured guardians of the Arctic Wolves' heritage, followers of the Blood Angels' traditions. Arctic Wolf by blood, Blood Angel by spirit, they fought with Angelic purity.

First Captain Viron Dzhugashvili was as silent as the death around him, death he and his brothers caused. His mind was on the names of the twenty-four First Company fallen in this battle. His command sergeant moved with him, fighting with purity and strength, not to mention determination and steadfast grace. The darkness of the Outpost's corridors did not improve their solemnity, although it did obscure the walls sprayed with the blood of the Third Company's retreat.

An Arctic Wolf tactical squad rounded a corner, hounding a retreating Kaos Marine. They walked into a hail of autocannon fire. Barely a cry of surprise left their mouths before the large caliber shells tore them apart. Dzhugashvili updated his count of fallen Marines to thirty-four and added their names to his mental list. The command sergeant grimaced as he bore witness to the slaughter. He stepped aside as Commander Voychev beckoned a Terminator Close-Assault Squad forward. Each one grinning behind their masks, the hulking Marines stood in a circle and linked arms. They disappeared in a flash of light, smoke, and ozone. Dzhugashvili turned and spat onto the blood-covered floor to rid his mouth of the after-taste of the nearby teleportation.

A second later the Arctic Wolves received the all-clear. Voychev was first around the corner with Dzhugashvili and his second only a step behind. It was a massacre. The five terminators stood in a loose circle, thunderhammers and storm shields dripping with gore. Dead Kaos Marines lay scattered about the corridor in pieces. Dzhugashvili shook his head at the wanton destruction and stepped forward, running his hand along the wall. There was a thin line of flaking plascrete, discolored as if by a flame. He turned away, gesturing to the spot.

'Commander Voychev,' The captain's voice was quiet, but still carried easily. 'Warp-fire. Psyker presence is now confirmed. From the Order?'

Voychev shrugged. 'That's possible. Brother Sorev is known to travel with the Third. But then, sorcerers are known to travel with Kaos. Stay alert.'

'As you command.'

The Marines paused as a small rumble made its way through the installation and the bedrock surrounding it. Dzhugashvili's second tilted his head for a moment, judging the vibrations. 'Small-scale munitions. Clearing a breach probably. Or knocking down a security door. Maybe five levels down.'

Voychev nodded. 'Let's not be overly pessimistic. Captain, have a team secure this and the previous levels. The rest of us, including you, will continue on.'

'Your will.'

The captain turned to his command sergeant and they stepped to the side, heads together in quiet conversation. Voychev gazed at them for a moment before addressing another sergeant. 'Brother-Sergeant Vaev, have you found him?'

The younger Marine removed his helm and grimaced. He whispered 'Negative commandant. We have not. His squad, however, is all around us.' The Marine gestured to two in particular. 'He was strangled, apparently. And this one was blown apart with warp fire.'

'The rest? Killed by bolters and chainswords?'

"Aye commandant. Only Lenikov and Mendelev are missing.'

Voychev merely nodded his acknowledgement and returned his attention to Dzhugashvili. The captain bowed his head.

'Command Sergeant Nirrov and Terminator Sergeants Tarinev, Rukvi, and Kirodsk will secure these levels with their squads. The rest of the company will proceed with us.'

'Understood. Take point and lead us down.'

'Aye commander.'

* * *

Captain Nikolai Riktovi was thrown down the corridor with the force of the blow. Bones shattered, lungs collapsed, armour fell apart. He landed hard, struggling to gain even the smallest breath of air. Sergeant Zurik Roskev's pained cry echoed through the captain's mind. Riktovi weakly fumbled at his rifle, trying to bring it to bear on the advancing Kaos Marine. His fingers feebly clutched the weapon but he couldn't lift it. The heretic paused over the fallen captain and grinned. It raised its power fist for the final blow.

Another Arctic Wolf powered into the traitor, knocking it off balance. The Kaos Marine snarled and grabbed the Arctic Wolf by the neck and brought the crackling power fist into his helm, pulverizing it. The loyalist dropped and the daemon worshipper stepped to the side to deflect a chainsword. Its fellows moved alongside it and opened fire with wrist-mounted storm bolters. The Arctic Wolf return fire simply ricocheted off the Kaos Terminator's hardened carapaces. The carapaces shifted with each new impact, presenting an unblemished part of themselves to the Wolves while the damaged portions sunk into the Terminators only to return glistening in a semi-translucent liquid and perfectly repaired.

Red hazard lights flickered overhead and smoke filled the corridor. The smells of fresh blood, death, and gun smoke mingled together overwhelm even the Marines' armour filters. Riktovi gave up trying to lift his rifle and grabbed his knife. He thrust up weakly towards the hip joint of a nearby Terminator. The beast cackled and kicked the captain's hand, bending it back at the wrist and sending the knife flying. The biomechanical arm shattered and showered the deck, useless. A bent and battered Crozius Arcanum intercepted the Terminator's next kick, knocking it off balance. The chaplain stepped forward and swung again, catching his towering opponent in the chest and sending it crashing to the floor.

Igarka moved to capitalize on the heretic's fall, grasping the handle of his weapon with both hands and swinging it at the traitor's head. He screamed, 'Burn the Heretic!' At his words the Crozius burned bright and descended towards the traitor.

The Kaos Terminator laughed as one of its fellows calmly fired its storm bolter. Igarka took the rounds in the chest and neck, armour buckling and shattering. He dropped to the floor, blood pumping from the wounds. One of the heretics brought its boot down on the fallen chaplain's skull and helped its fellow to its feet before continuing on. The squad walked calmly over fallen Arctic Wolves and opened fire. Another loyalist Marine went down, armour broken apart under the fusillade of heavy-caliber bolt rounds.

The return fire was far more vicious than it had any right to be, considering the number of Marines left. Rough hands grabbed the now-unconscious Riktovi and dragged him back towards safety. A mechanical voice called out the Emperor's name, rallying the remaining Wolves to its banner. Finally the enemy Terminators were struck down. One collapsed as its legs were shorn off at the hip. Another fell as rounds punched through its chest. The last three were shredded under the high-intensity fire.

Sergeant Roskev, bent over his captain, glared at the Dreadnought. 'Captain Riktovi ordered you to stay with the civilians!'

The machine slowly turned to face him, its assault cannon smoking. 'I apologize, Brother-Sergeant Roskev. I deemed this course of action necessary and a better fulfillment of the order to protect them.'

'Believe me Ventrek, I am grateful. But if you recall, there were Daemons in the vent system. They may have gotten past us.'

'This installation's ventilation systems do not connect with those on the secure Archangel levels.'

'The point is moot either way. Cover us, we're pulling back.'

The Dreadnought paused. 'Abandoning our part of the installation?'

Roskev hoisted Riktovi onto his shoulders and nodded. 'Aye. Much safer there. Where's Sorev?'

'The Champion remained behind.' Ventrek's upper chassis swung around. 'Sergeant, my audio receptors are detecting bolter fire.'

The command sergeant staggered under his captain's weight and began to jog. 'Let the traitor's fight amongst themselves.'

The Dreadnought did not move. 'Negative, sergeant. Sound profile of the majority of shots fired does not match that of the heretic rifle. In fact, it matches our own Taymyr Pattern Boltgun.'

'So they raided the planet before setting it to the torch. Get moving.'

'Your will.'

* * *

'_Armadon!'_

The cry resonated through the corridors, bouncing off the walls and ceilings. Full of anger and hatred, it was repeated time and time again. Death lay in wait for those who went to investigate, their bodies piling around the one who shouted. He screamed the name once more and slew the Black Legionnaires who rounded the next bend with contemptuous ease. Finally, upon his next call, he was answered.

The voice whispered through the Marine's mind, brushing his thoughts and luring him with false promises. It bore the weight of millennia of warfare and wanton slaughter. 'Sergeant Lenikov, my friend. How good it is to see you alive and well.'

Lenikov roared his fury to the Kaos Gods and quickly dispatched another group of Kaos Marines, sliding their shots and blades smoothly and easily. He ducked under an axe and drove his sword through the heretic's chest. Hands grasped at him to restrain him and the sergeant slammed his elbow into the face of the heretic behind him. Reversing the grip on his chainsword, Lenikov spun around in a crouch and slashed at the legs and waists of his enemies. With each drop of blood spilled and every Kaos servant felled, his fury grew.

Laughter echoed through the corridor. 'Good!' You have done well, sergeant. You are well on your way to becoming a favored berserker of the Skull Throne.'

Lenikov snarled. 'I will never turn my back from the Emperor's light.'

He spat the words with a vehemence that was not his. The cruel laughter enveloped him, slowing him.

'Ah my brother… You already have.'

The sergeant roared as cold agony spread throughout his body. The pain multiplied a hundredfold in mere seconds, sending him to his knees. The Kaos Marines around him backed away, bowing their heads in forced homage to the sergeant. They growled their anger at the indignity placed upon them but were ignored. Lenikov stared unblinkingly at the floor, sweat dripping from his face as he struggled to master the torment. Blood red boots entered his field of vision as a new figure halted before him

Armadon knelt before the Arctic Wolf. He smiled sadly. 'I weep for you, Marine. You see your path before you, yet you deny it at every turn. It's been how long since you've prayed to your corpse god and meant it? How many times have you denied that your fellow deluded dogs are in fact your brothers? For how long have you secluded yourself, questioning your faith?' The sorcerer stood and slowly circled his adversary. 'You already have turned your back from the Emperor, Lenikov. All that is left is for you to accept it and follow your true path.'

Armadon lightly touched his fingers to Lenikov's armour and the Marine shook as freezing ice and fire burned through his veins. Armadon's fingers trailed along the armour, causing it to scorch and blacken. His other arm raised and motioned to the Black Legion Marines. 'Come brothers,' He exclaimed. 'Embrace your lord.' The sorcerer released them from his control and they surged forward, blades glinting. The first to touch the sergeant screamed in abrupt horror and agony. He flew back into the wall and disintegrated.

Armadon snarled. A specter hovered near the fallen sergeant. Garbed in white armour with flame and bone etchings, the figure raised dual swords to point threateningly at the surrounding Kaos Marines. His face was a patchwork of scars, gazing silently at the sorcerer with a cold fury unmatched by any foe Armadon had encountered. The Word Bearer narrowed his eyes. 'I know you…'

The vision blasted into the heretics' minds with a force that made Armadon stumble. Just for a moment they were in a different time and place. The ruins of a city scorched under a blazing sun, the light pouring through a gaping hole in the cavern ceiling high above. A Marine in white armour flew away from the sorcerer, landing hard on the cracked and pitted road. Dual swords skittered away into the shadows.

The Marine gathered himself and spat blood onto the steaming rockcrete. He raised his eyes to the sorcerer and sent a blast of power radiating towards him. Armadon laughed and turned the power upon itself, culminating in a brilliant explosion that stripped the fallen Marine of flesh, leaving only smoking and crushed bones to mark his passing.

Back in the present, Armadon fell to his knees and blinked away the pain in his mind. He glanced around him in mild surprise. The corridor was filled with fallen Black Legion marines. Not one remained standing. He returned his gaze to the phantom. 'Brother Vonik Loranev. I killed you. Now I will banish this worthless soul of yours to the realm of the Undivided Gods! Your protection will not keep Lenikov from me!' The sorcerer was thrown down the corridor and through two feet of solid rock into the next room. He roared in pained fury and struggled to stand. A force far stronger than his own pinned him to the ground. The phantom followed Armadon into the room and both disappeared from sight.

Lenikov gasped as he was released from the all-encompassing pain. Breathing heavily, he whispered in surprised awe and sorrow. 'Loranev…'

A few moments later a squad of warriors rounded the nearby corner. They froze upon seeing the scattered heretics and the single kneeling Marine. Hesitant to speak, they raised their weapons and slowly moved forward. The one Marine amongst them pushed forward and ran to Lenikov's side. He knelt beside the sergeant and rested his hand on Lenikov's back. He was surprised to note his brother was shaking violently. The Marine's companions spread out silently, securing the rest of the corridor. The Marine spoke in quiet whispers.

'Sergeant Lenikov, I am Assault Sergeant Satinov. Can you recognize me?' He waited but received no response. Leaning closer, holding the shaking Marine in his arms, he whispered again. 'Kyr Lenikov. You are safe now. We will keep you from harm, and what has come to pass here will not do so again. Do you recognize my voice? Do you understand my words?'

Again, he was met with silence. He glanced at the Inquisitor and shook his head slowly. He then returned to simply holding his shaking brother, providing silent support for him. Vassilevski stepped alongside her bodyguard commander and spoke in quiet whispers.

'What has happened here? I have never seen an Astartes laid so low…' She drifted into silence.

Essie Silvara, Sister-Superior of the Adepta Sororitas, shook her head. 'You are young, Lady Inquisitor. You have admittedly not seen much. Here is what happens when a noble Astartes has been pushed beyond his limits. They are human, my Lady. Just like anyone else. Beneath all the armour, all the augmentations. Under all the battle-hardened steel and fury, with their soul laid bare, they are simply human beings. Just like you, or me. This Marine has been pushed too far, too quickly. He must now be brought back from the abyss and comforted. Again, just like any frightened human.

Vassilevski hesitated. 'I did not think this was possible.'

Silvara smiled sadly. 'I know. Everyone forgets a Marine's humanity. The Imperium fears death, naturally. The Imperium as a whole wishes for inhuman defenders, for we Imperials know that humans will always fail. The Astartes embody the ultimate defense. All our hopes of survival rest on their shoulders. Therefore, they are not human. They cannot be human, for otherwise they would surely be flawed and would fail, condemning us all to death. The Astartes are quite capable of protecting us and supporting us. But even they need to know they aren't alone.'

The battle-sister smiled again and walked quietly to the two Marines. She knelt alongside them and rested her head against Lenikov's. Her hands clasped one of his, dwarfed in size but holding on regardless. No one spoke and for those few moments there was a sad peace in the decaying hell Angura had become.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

'Dropships inbound!'

Ordnatev didn't bother to look up, instead running ahead of the civilians to engage the approaching ground forces. Dreadnought Kortinev and the remnants of the Seventh Company were just a step behind, their guns armed and ready. Bolter fire lanced into the charging Marines and loyalists went down in arcing sprays of blood. Captain Ordnatev dropped to the stained snow while his command sergeant took cover behind the Dreadnought. The sergeant glanced at his commander, then to the incoming Thunderhawks.

'Captain…'

'I know sergeant. Kortinev, can you hit them?'

The Dreadnought spun on its central axis and raised its hull-mounted cyclone missile launcher, judging ranges. 'Negat-'

A rocket lanced from the enemy horde and smashed into the left leg of the hulking machine, sending it crashing to the ground. A second missile blew apart the main chassis, showering Ordnatev with debris. The fires enveloped the command sergeant and melted through his armour. The Marine screamed in anguish and struggled desperately to put out the flames to no avail. After a mere moment he collapsed to the snow and was consumed. The 38 Marines of the Arctic Wolves Seventh Company herded their crowd of civilians away from the Kaos Legionnaires and the burning remnants of their outpost as quickly as they could, but it wasn't fast enough. The first of the Gunships attained its effective range and opened fire.

Lascannons, heavy bolters, and HE rockets connected the heavens to the earth. Plumes of dirt, snow and blood launched into the air, marking dozens of kills at a time. It was then the Marines saw the first Thunderhawk flash past, the bright emblem of the Wolves shining in the light of the rising sun. The rest of the gunship fleet flew overhead and banked, coming back around for a second pass over the Kaos Marines. Four Thunderhawks broke off from the engagement and circled around to land behind the Wolves. The ramps opened and a Tech-Marine stepped onto the battlefield.

'Captain! We have orders to evacuate these civilians and your company.'

'Tech-Marine Sorotski, how is the fleet situation?' Captain Ordnatev ushered frightened civilians onto two of the gunships while his Marines ran aboard the others.

'We're evacuating the system. We'll virus bomb the planet and bug out.'

Ordnatev froze. 'Angura will die.'

'Aye captain, Angura will die. Now we must hurry. Commander Voychev is waiting for us with Captains Dzhugashvili and Riktovi.'

The boarding ramp closed, shutting off the outside world and the Thunderhawks shot into the air, away from the battle. Those gunships that could broke off the diversionary attack and withdrew. The rest fell as burning wreckage. Ordnatev stood by the assault ramp and held a wall stanchion as the Thunderhawk shook and dropped in altitude. Klaxons blared and red emergency lights flashed throughout the hold. Ordnatev left his position and moved to the cockpit.

'What happened?'

The pilots didn't bother to turn around, focusing instead on their flashing monitors and the world of death outside the gunship. Explosions dotted the sky and flak bounced off the hull. The Thunderhawk just to their right in the tight Valkyrie Formation shuddered and burst into flame. It dropped from the formation and smashed into the ground below. After a moment a burning figure ran from the wreckage only to be gunned down. Ordnatev looked away.

'We're hit on the port side. Glancing shot, but shrapnel perforated the engine covering.'

The captain nodded and returned to the holding bay. 'Marines, prepare for a hard landing.'

* * *

'Roskev!'

'I'm alright, Nikolai.' The sergeant crouched behind a metal stanchion and calmly reloaded. Bolt rounds flew past, pockmarking the wall and showering him with dust. He stood and snapped off a shot, narrowly avoiding the fusillade of return fire. The Marine opposite him was not so lucky. A dozen rounds perforated the front of his armour as he fell. Blood sprayed the walls. 'Dostoev is down.'

'Understood.' The captain tossed a krak grenade down the hall and stumbled towards the stairs connecting them to the Archangel's levels. Falling through the entrance with a grunt of agony, he gasped as the biting cold found him. 'Roskev, fall back.'

The command sergeant laughed and fired blindly at the Kaos Marines. He shook his head. 'That's a little hard, captain.' He flinched as a furious volley of shells blew chunks out of the wall to his right. Dust and debris covered his once-pristine armour. The Marine shook his head when he heard the bootsteps of his enemy. They'd finally decided to advance. Roskev roared in unleashed fury and leapt from cover, combat knife and bolter in hand.

His first shot blew through the torso of the nearest Legionnaire. His second sent a traitor sprawling with lifeblood leaking from his neck. The sergeant ducked and spun, his knife scraping against the softer hip joints of one of the heretics. Blood sprayed, staining Roskev's armour further. A cursed sword bounced off his shoulder pad and sent him to his knees. Another traitor, behind the sergeant, shoved him to the floor and placed his boot on Roskev's back. The Legionnaire held his sword above the fallen Marine, the point hanging over his spine.

Roskev flinched as the sword fell to the deck beside him and blood sprayed from the traitor's shoulder joint. Another shell passed through his helm and snapped his head back. The corpse remained standing over the command sergeant for a short moment before toppling backward. The heretics turned sharply and brought their bolters up, ready to fire. They scanned the darkened corridors, searching for their target.

With barely a whisper another bolt found its way into a traitor's chest. As he fell, his fellows opened fire, lighting up the shadows. After a half minute of sustained shooting, the heretic guns fell silent. Then two more of them died. A lightly-armoured Marine dropped from the ceiling, landing amidst the Legionnaires. He crouched low and swept out his leg, sending three Kaos Marines to the floor. Arsenov tucked into a roll and sprang off the deck, his knives flashing. The blades cut throats and stabbed through skulls. He spun around a heretic and ducked under its punch, clasping the arm at the elbow and stabbing his knife into the joint.

The scout jumped, his boots landing on the front of a heretic's shoulders and forcing him painfully to the ground. Landing with a roll he sidestepped a sword thrust and drove his fingers into the Legionnaire's throat. The traitor's hands clutched at his neck and he bent over, struggling to breath. Arsenov rolled over the choking Marine's back and punched a charging Legionnaire in the face before clutching the haft of its axe and sending another punch into its larynx. Pulling the axe from his opponent's failing grip, the Arctic Wolf spun and dug the blade into another Kaos Marine's stomach. He quickly released the weapon and stepped to the side, grasping the wrist of a traitor attempting to strike at him with a power sword. The scout forced the arm out to the side to deflect another blade before twisting around and piercing the traitor's back with his own sword.

Arsenov turned to the side and ducked under a low axe swing before stepping forward and twisting the heretic's neck around. Arms reached around his chest and pinned him to another Legionnaire while one to his front swung his sword. The scout snapped his head back and into the nose of his rearward opponent and then used the loosened grip to duck to his right, allowing the sword to dig into the traitor's lower neck. He grasped the other traitor's head and slammed it into his own. Arsenov shoved the dazed heretic back and turned, smashing in another Legionnaire's throat with a vicious punch that reverberated throughout the scout's arm. He spun around and intercepted a sword swing, spinning the arm around and sending the blade into the traitor's stomach.

The Wolf stepped away and turned around, ducking an axe. He smashed his boot into the side of the Legionnaire's head and sent him sprawling. Standing in a momentary clearing, surrounded by bodies, he withdrew his knives once more. The surrounding Legionnaire's stared in shock as Arsenov prepared to attack. Two heretics charged forward, power swords raised high. The scout ducked the blades and stabbed a knife through each of their chests. He dropped to the floor as gunfire erupted throughout the corridor.

The Kaos Marines fell quickly, volley after volley of bolter fire tearing into them. A trio of Arctic Wolf Terminators powered into the mob, thunder hammers swinging. The traitors fell into disarray and were slaughtered. The Arctic Wolves pushed through, reaping a bloody harvest. Arsenov stood and joined his brothers as Captain Dzhugashvili helped Roskev to his feet. Dzhugashvili gave the sergeant a quick once-over and patted him on the shoulder. 'Lucky save, brother. I dearly hope you didn't soil your armour.'

Roskev gave a shaky laugh. 'Never, captain. Thank you for your timely rescue. I am deeply indebted to you. Who is the scout? I must thank him as well.'

Dzhugashvili waved away the question. 'Voychev and I need to speak with Nikolai. Where is he?'

Following the sergeant's gesture, the two commanders marched past the dead Marines. Each gave a nod of respect to the fallen Sergeant Dostoev. They entered the stairwell and gave an involuntary shiver. Voychev knelt next to Riktovi and placed his hand on the side of the captain's face. 'Nikolai, what has happened to you? Where is your apothecary?'

Riktovi coughed and shrugged. 'I sent him with the civilians to the lower levels. I did the same with the rest of Roskev's squad. Where did you come from? The gene-facility…'

Dzhugashvili looked away. 'I detonated the charges. We abandoned the gene-seed to come here.'

The captain of the Third leaned back against the wall. 'So… The Chapter is done. We are the last of the Angel's Wolves.'

Voychev nodded. 'Aye captain, we are. But we have more pressing matters to attend to. For example, there is a Black Crusade knocking on the Imperium's doors, and an entire arsenal of xeno weaponry beneath our feet.'

Riktovi paled. 'Xeno – what? Where?'

The commander helped Riktovi to his feet and slung an arm around him. Together, they began their descent while Dzhugashvili and his company secured the corridors with Roskev. Riktovi grunted slightly with each step, his breath coming painfully in the frigid air. Their boots echoed in the otherwise silent stairwell. Voychev sighed.

'Aye, xeno weaponry. No doubt you had a looksee at the armory. Inside is every weapon used by Mankind throughout its history, but also a select few gifted to the Astartes from a xenos army just before this particular species went extinct. The weapons were entrusted to the Archangels, but they do not have a static home and were therefore passed on to us to safeguard. No, Nikolai, we have never used them. We are not tainted.'

The captain hesitated before accepting the words. 'Yes commander. And what of the sealed blast doors? What is behind them?'

'You are about to find out, brother.'

* * *

'You are not alone.'

The words echoed in his mind. They consumed his conscious.

'You are never alone. We support you. The weight you carry, give it to us. We will carry it for you. You are not alone.'

Lenikov shook his head. 'I know. My fallen brothers still stand by me. As do those who are living. I thank you.'

Satinov inclined his head. 'Always welcome, my friend. Let's see if we can regroup with the company.'

Sergeant Lenikov held up a hand. 'A moment, brother. I would have a word with the Lady Vassilevski.'

The assault sergeant nodded and stepped away, as did the sisters of the Adepta Sororitas. Vassilevski and Lenikov turned the corner and walked until they were out of earshot. She looked over the sergeant, taking in every wound. She grimaced. 'I am sorry, sergeant. I am sorry for everything.'

'My Lady, you should not be. You have done nothing. I was wrong to hate you, and for this I apologize. I would like to humbly offer my life in defense of yours, in the hope that it will repay my debt to you.'

'Lenikov, what debt? You have done nothing.'

'I hated you. I hated you because you failed to bring the traitor of Preaore to justice before the death of my honour brother. I hated you because you reminded me of my own failures. I used you as an excuse to turn my face from the Emperor's Light. And even now, despite the fact that you are here, defending my home from the advances of Kaos, I hated you. I owe you my life in service as a payment.'

The Inquisitor hesitated before nodding. She knew Lenikov would not be saying such if it were not his wish. 'I accept. I would be honoured to have you at my side, sergeant.'

Lenikov nodded his gratitude and the two rejoined the assault sergeant and battle-sisters. Satinov and Lenikov grasped hands for a moment before taking the lead. Vassilevski moved in the center of the column with her Sororitas in the rear. The two Marines rounded the corner with their weapons at the ready, Lenikov with his bolter and Satinov with his bolt pistol. The tactical sergeant paused a moment and glanced back at Patrova.

'Lady Inquisitor, do you believe in spirits roaming the mortal plane?'

She paused at his question and shrugged. 'Don't we all, in one way or another?'

Satinov grinned and shook his head. 'They always answer with another question. I believe she meant to say "yes."'

Lenikov nodded. 'Do you believe they can interact with those who are mortal?'

'Are we not all mortal? Yes, Sergeant. I do believe that.'

The Tactical Sergeant slowed his pace to walk alongside her. Satinov remained at the head of the squad. 'I would not be alive if one had not. My brother Loranev, dead on Arein, stood at my side mere moments ago. He was the Marine who caused the destruction you found around me.'

Patrova paused. 'Why? Why would a Librarius Crusader such as he allow himself to cause such?'

Lenikov's brow furrowed at the mention of the Librarius and his unfamiliarity with the Crusader aspect. He pushed the thought from his mind. 'His murderer is here. The sorcerer Armadon is here. Loranev met him in combat and has momentarily defeated him.'

This information brought a frown to the Inquisitor's face and she halted. She placed her hand on Marine's arm. 'How can he be here? Ekthalon killed him. Your captain has told me what his Marines witnessed.'

A cold wind swept through the corridor and a thin layer of ice formed on the walls. Ethereal beings passed through the squad and voices whispered softly at their ears. The loyalists froze. The Marines and Inquisitor tilted their head and strove to make sense of the words.

_'We are here.'_

'_We are _here.'

Satinov's eyes grew wide and he cast his gaze on the floor, making the sign of the Imperial Aquila over his chest. Lenikov gave a sad smile.

_'Your brothers… are here.'_

'_As always… we stand at your side._'

_'We fight the darkness.'_

The whispers faded to be replaced with daemonic shrieks. The Sisters smashed their hands over their ears and cried out in pain. Patrova fell against the wall in shock, a single tear of blood running from her eye. Lenikov and Satinov snarled.

_'Kaos, my brothers… never dies. Do not think that the ghosts of your pasts will stop me. I _will_ provide your souls for the true Gods to feast upon.'_

Lenikov glanced at the Inquisitor. 'Do you believe me now, my lady? We must return to the Chapter at speed. Korrel, know you the way?'

'Aye. Sisters, do try to keep up will you?' With that, the Assault Sergeant pulled ahead, breaking into a jog. Lenikov covered the rear to ensure that no loyalist fell behind. He grimaced at the Sisters' struggle to keep up and discreetly whispered for Satinov to slow down over the tactical-level vox. Another voice brought him to a standstill.

_'Sergeant Lenikov? By the Emperor it's good to hear your voice…'_

The sergeant stepped aside and clicked the vox to gain Satinov's attention. 'Brother Mendelev? Where are you?'

Satinov approached Lenikov and shot him a quizzical look.

_'100 meters to your front and 50 to your right, according to the auspex.'_

'Understood. I'm moving to your location.'

The Assault Sergeant placed a hand on Lenikov's arm. 'Brother, something doesn't feel right about this.'

Lenikov gazed into his fellow sergeant's eyes and frowned. 'All the same, he is my battle-brother. He is the only survivor from my squad.'

Satinov bowed his head. 'I understand. I'll remain here with the Sisters and Lady Vassilevski. Regroup with Brother Mendelev and bring him to us.'

'Aye, brother. I'll be back in a moment.'

Lenikov turned on his heels and stalked into the darkness, the white of his armour fading into nothing amid the dull shadows cast by the red emergency lights mounted high on the walls. His bootsteps echoed in the overwhelming silence, each louder than the last. The lighting flickered and died, leaving the Marine in a consuming darkness. In this darkness the horrors of the world above seemed irrelevant and ages old. It was in this darkness the sergeant came face-to-face with what it meant to be a brother of the damned.


End file.
